


i used to waste my time dreaming of being alive (now i only waste it dreaming of you)

by Alex_Levi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 97 percent HEA, A lot of music references, Actor Ben Solo, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awkward First Times, Background GingerRose, Ben Solo is a Mess, Ben tolerates her music taste, Childhood Friends, College, End of the world 2012, Engineer Rey, F/M, Is this: gold rush or the 1 by taylor swift we’ll never know, M/M, NOT a normal people au, No age difference, Rey likes angry love songs and pop punk bands, Rey thinks Ben Solo is annoyingly perfect, They bicker a lot, background stormpilot, brief mentions of getting together with somebody else (both of them), friends to misunderstood teenagers to friends??? To lovers, lowkey big crush though 👀, minor tw of ghosting, they were both 17 at the start so underage warning, very trope-y, virgins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 49,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24453748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Levi/pseuds/Alex_Levi
Summary: There’s this interconnectedness, the feeling of belonging to something (or to someone, to a moment), of the world seeming to narrow to this little piece of ground they’re standing on – however limitless it is. Being alive – she only ever felt this when she’s with him.Or: a tale of misunderstandings, bad timings, and two people who are clearly made for each other but can’t seem to get it right.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 107
Kudos: 85
Collections: Ijustfellintothissendhelp





	1. Sun, part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Ghosting.

**Spring, 2019**

_New York City_

It is eight forty-eight in the evening when Rey receives the notification. The loud _ping_ echoes in walls of the bullpen, which means that she’s probably the only one still working on the floor. It’s no bother – she has a bidding due next week, and it’s not like she’s scared of ghosts. She’s 25 years old, for fuck’s sake.

She sighs and digs around her very messy desk, under which stacks of blueprints and an empty coffee cup rest on top of her old iPhone 7. On the lock screen is a text from her friend, Rose, timestamped at 6:00 pm, the health app she downloaded two weeks ago reminding her to _drink your water, bitch_ , and the latest one – from Facebook: _You have a new friend request._

_Strange_. Rey’s pretty sure she’s friends with all the people she knows. Hell, she’s even friends with the Starbucks barista who’s always taking her order because of course she is – Facebook’s friend suggestion algorithm _is_ borderline invasion of your privacy, it’s almost amazing.

_Isn’t data harvesting easier with affirmations in the form of likes and comments?_

She swipes and deletes the health app notification – not before she guiltily takes a sip from her bottle – and taps on the Facebook banner. She’ll reply to Rose later. It’s probably just a dinner question.

Because the office’s wifi is really shitty (or maybe it’s just her phone, god knows it’s fallen more times than she can count), she has managed to finish proofreading the email she needs to send before the app’s fully loaded.

When it does, it says:

_Ben Solo_

_Confirm | Delete_

Ben Solo – now that’s a face Rey hasn’t seen for a long time. And by long, she means the last time is when she is getting her lunch from the deli in the building, which has a magazine with his face on the cover of it. He’s almost always around in print, and to be honest, it’s fucking annoying.

She bites her bottom lip, tapping on the profile. There are barely any posts, just tags on throwback photos, links with his face on it, and some birthday greetings. The profile picture is a silhouette facing a sunset, and it was updated two years ago.

_That’s what happens when the whole world knows your name, I guess._

It makes her wonder though if this is a fake account; it’s clear that he isn’t the type to keep up with his social media platforms. He’s famous – famous people only have Twitter or Instagram nowadays (and he doesn’t seem like the type to have a Snapchat account, and definitely not a Youtube channel!) She scrolls down the friends list, and sure enough, Luke Skywalker, Armitage Hux, and Poe Dameron are the only mutual friends they have.

_Is it really Ben Solo’s account, though?_

She does remember Rose telling her they are mutuals on Twitter. Says it gained her a hundred new followers that she lost after a few weeks. It is something she likes telling everyone – that she knows Ben Solo, _Yes from_ that _movie, we used to go to the same high school. I agree, I’d pay a lot to see him as The Phantom given the chance_. _No, I can’t get you in touch with him, he’s very busy. He’s nicer than his character, yes._

_“It’s a great conversation starter,” says Rose, “Way to break the ice.”_

_Rey scoffs, rolling her eyes. “We didn’t even talk to him that much.”_

_“I didn’t –_ you did _. I remembered you being chummy with his family in graduation.”_

_“That’s why he hates me.”_

She licks her lips, shaking her head and closing her phone. It’s late and she should probably leave now. She rolls the blueprints and inserts them back into the plastic tubes, sends her email, then turns off her computer.

As she is leaving the office, Rey re-opens her Facebook app and unthinkingly clicks _Confirm_ before she changes her mind. After all, it’s just a friend request – it doesn’t have to mean anything.

—————

**Winter, 2012**

_San Francisco_

He is always put together at these kind of events, of course he is. He’s Senator Leia Organa’s only son and their school’s golden boy, two-time inner-city spelling bee champion. He’s running for valedictorian and fucking prom king and he’s so stupidly tall, it makes Rey want to break all the champagne flutes on the buffet table.

Because in all honesty, Ben Solo is perfect, even at age eighteen.

He didn’t have the _Emo Crisis of Seventeen_ even though both Panic! at the Disco and We The Kings have released albums the previous year. He’s a freaking _Mathlete_ and Poe Dameron’s understudy in the school’s production of Hamlet, and got into five Ivy League universities (the other three pending results, which he’ll probably be also accepted to). He’s fucking point guard in their basketball team – and very good at it, got them in regionals this season.

It’s impossible to compare, which is why Rey’s not very sure how she got roped on this part-time job.

_Fine_ , maybe it is Leia’s Christmas party, and Maz does the catering so she helps out because she can really use the extra money and _sure_ , Leia will have invited her anyway; they are old family friends, but then she never really know how to move around the room like Ben does, so staying in the sidelines will be smarter. She isn’t raised in socialite parties and political auctions, she grew up with grease between her fingernails and poor taste in music (confirmation still pending).

He’s standing beside his mother like the poster son he is, nodding along to the conversation with a glass of cider – probably – in his hand, looking like he’s actually interested in what these old white men are saying. She’s very mindful not to get too close, she doesn’t want him to know she is there.

“Kid.” A voice speaks beside her, almost making her drop the tray of canapés she’s holding. She puts on a blank expression; even though you’re friends with your employer, you can’t be caught slacking off on the job.

Han grins and picks up a piece off her tray. “He’s about as bored as I am at this party, he’s just very good at hiding it.”

She frowns at him, pretending not to know who he is taking about. Rey loved Han like a daughter does to a father, but he just gives off such a big _dad_ energy that eighteen year-olds don’t really appreciate.

“Oh come on.” He rolls his eyes and takes another. “I’m just saying – that boy is the most important thing in my life, but you’re maybe too good for him.”

“ _Maybe?_ As in you’re not sure?” She scrunches her face in disapproval – he’s always teasing her about her childhood crush on Ben (that she got over with!) since they were five years old. Okay, _right_ , maybe Rey did try to kiss him then – but she was five! She didn’t know any better – hell, if she knew Ben will turn out the way he is, she would have avoided him like he had a contagious disease or something.

_But there’s nothing wrong with Ben, though._ The traitorous voice at the back of her mind tells her, _You’re just bitter he isn’t friends with you anymore._

_So what if I’m angry? Who cares about Ben Solo anyway?_

Han laughs at the look on her face, it is probably so red right now. “Please, can you stop? Maz is watching.” She gestures to the woman in the other side of the room, who is _definitely not_ watching.

He shakes his head, picking up yet another canapé and popping it into his mouth. “Yeah – yeah. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Gee, thanks.” She mutters under her breath, grabbing a piece for herself and devouring it. .

When she looks up again at Ben Solo, he is staring right back at her, the crease between his brows lining his perfect face in displeasure.

———

“Kenobi.”

Rey knows that voice – she knows her name is always spoken by _that_ voice in extreme annoyance, like he can’t wait to get the conversation over with. If you’re going to ask her, he shouldn’t have talked to her in the first place if he is so inconvenienced by it.

She frowns at the plates she is washing – and maybe she did rub the sponge a little too hard on the porcelain – and asks, “What do you want, Solo? I’m busy.”

She hears him move behind her, the rustle of his suit jacket evident. He’s just the kind of guy who tries to make himself smaller because he’s built too big, but is unsuccessful no matter how he tries. How can you not notice him? He’s _him_. He exudes his own gravity, planets orbit within his pull. He is like the sun, and she is merely an unidentified asteroid in the grand scheme of things.

“Do you always have to be up your ass about it when I’m talking to you?”

“What the fuck.” She grunts as he moves beside her, rolled up sleeves and all. He nudges her to the side to make way for his very unappreciated (at the moment) large frame, dropping his hands in the sink full of suds. “I’m helping you.”

“I don’t need your help. Go away.”

He doesn’t speak, getting a plate instead and scrubbing the bits and pieces of food stuck on it. She rolls her eyes and continues rinsing the dishes she’s done, then rinses the ones he did. There’s no use in arguing with him. She’ll be sidetracked and get nothing accomplished, so she allows them to work in companionable silence that Rey is almost fooled into thinking it is just.

When they’re done, she exits the back door quickly, not waiting to let Ben get a word out.

Unfortunately for her though – he follows her out. “Hey,”

“I’m on my break,” She turns away from him and sits on the wooden bench beside the dumpster. He’s clearly not very glad with the setting but wordlessly drops down on the other end. “God, why do you make it so hard to talk to you?”

She snorts, “Okay – wow, now it’s me who’s so hard to talk to. Right. _Okay_ , Mister Popular. Whatever gets you off.”

“For fuck’s sake – can we not have a conversation where you’re always out for my neck? I’ve just helped you –”

“Help I never asked for! If I had known you’d rub it in my face, I’d have thrown you out —”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it —”

“Why do you even talk to me, _Ben,_ if you’re going to be such a dick about it? Look, I’ve told you that if you didn’t want to be friends, that’s fucking fine —”

“Who said I didn’t want to be friends? You were the one who told me to forget about —”

“Don’t you dare say it.” Rey puts all of her anger into the glare she sends him, which Ben returns by pressing his lips together, as if he’s trying to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. Her glare doesn’t waver; she shakes her head and makes a face at her flats. “What do you want from me, really?”

He stays silent, his gaze not leaving her face. She can’t bear to look at him because she doesn’t want to feel the heaviness of his stare – it seems like everything gets out of hand whenever she did.

After a few minutes, he murmurs softly – and if she isn’t beside him, she will not have heard it. “Go to prom with me.”

She half-laughs, half-chokes a “What.”

“Go to prom with me.” He says, much louder this time.

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? _Why_ do people ask other people to prom?”

“This isn’t funny, Solo.” She scowls at him, “If this is about last summer, I swear to god —”

“Last summer was _your_ idea, Rey —”

“So what if it’s _my_ idea? You had the right to refuse and you’re literally only friends with me on summers, when people at school won’t make fun of you for talking to someone who works at a diner after classes _– fuck!_ You just infuriate me sometimes, okay? And you get angry at me when I talk to Han, but you don’t _ever_ talk to him and it’s not like I’m trying to _steal_ him from you —”

“Can you fucking shut up about Han? You were the one who avoided me these past few months – I’ve tried talking and _you_ – you do this! You always interrupt and we never get anything done. I’m sorry if my crowd isn’t exactly your cup of tea, but Rey, I’ve tried, okay?”

“ _Tried_?” She hisses, eyes narrowing, “ _I_ was the one who tried! You did nothing but ignore my messages – or didn’t you remember? You left me thinking I did something wrong, that it was all my fault, and now you’re asking me to fucking _prom?”_

“I’ve apologized a million times since then – how long are you going to hold that against me?” He swallows thickly, bringing his hand up to loosen his bow tie. “I don’t know what else you expected, Rey. You’ve always known I’d mess this up eventually.”

She takes a deep breath, blinking rapidly, because Rey may be stupid enough to lose everything to Ben Solo, but damn it, she will not cry in front of a _boy_. “I’m not going to prom with you.”

The night carries him like a vision, so beautiful under the moonlight and gaze so cold like the winter air. The sting of rejection doesn’t make it past the mask he is always projecting, or maybe Rey has spent too much time looking at him to know the difference. Either way, she will not take her words back.

Ben huffs out a hollow laugh, shaking his head and standing up. “Okay, yeah. Thanks, Kenobi. Happy end of the fucking world or whatever.”

—————

**Summer, 2012**

_San Francisco_

This is the part where Rey’s life begins.

It’s also ironic, because the Maya calendar had forecasted that the world is to end on the 21st of December, in the year of our lord two thousand and twelve. The sun is shining and it’s not the fun kind – the humidity makes her skin sticky, her sweat clogs her scalp and it makes her hair smell like she’s been out in the sun all day. She has to take five baths to cool down, and their old air conditioner keeps falling apart. But it’s fine, she’s survived worse.

For now, there is only her and him, sitting in the roof of his house, eating Oreos and drinking orange juice and complaining about the taste – or the lack of it – while Fall Out Boy’s From Under the Cork Tree plays from his iPod touch on repeat (her turn to pick this time). He is reading Andy Weir’s The Martian on his Kindle, and she is halfway through the latest Heroes of Olympus book that she borrowed from his collection.

For now, she is just _Rey_ to him, and he is just _Ben_ to her. They didn’t have to pretend not to know each other. 

They are rarely this peaceful, never one to talk if they’re at school. There are certain stereotypes you have to endure at this age, and people aren’t generally accepting just because you’re friends with their friends. You’re not cool enough for _this_ , you’re not smart enough for _that_ – it’s hard to keep up with everything, and it’s just easier to avoid each other.

But they’re friends – they’ve always been friends, at summers and before that, when life is less than complicated and sitting beside a boy you’ve known forever doesn’t have to mean anything, and no consequences should come from it. 

“Ever get scared thinking this is the last year of our lives?”

He shrugs, eyes not leaving the screen and finger scrolling down. “That’s just a myth, Rey.”

She dog-ears his book, knowing it’ll annoy him later, and turns to him. “No, just humor me this once – what if the world ends in December? D’you reckon there’d be volcanic eruptions or something?”

His gaze flickers to her for a moment before it returns to the reader in front of him. “Can you just – _later?_ I’m three pages from finishing the chapter.”

“It’s just stupid that I haven’t really experienced much of the world and it’s already ending. I mean, I’m almost 18, never been to a rave—”

He scoffs to himself, eyes still moving along the text. “Not that fun.”

She mocks him in her head, leaning back on her folding chair. “Easy for you to say, Mister Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two Red Carpet Invitee.”

He turns off the reader and faces her, impassive. “Really, Rey. This again? Why do you always bring that up? Get over it.”

“Look,” she raises her hands defensively, “I’m just saying – you have _way_ more life experiences than I do. You can die and you won’t regret a thing.”

“I watched a movie with Emma Watson, _big deal_.” He says it in a way that it is, indeed, a big deal, which makes her snort. “You’re obsession with Harry Potter isn’t healthy if you think _that_ constitutes to living.”

“Oh come off it, Ben. You know what I mean.”

He chuckles, spinning the Kindle like a fucking basketball using his pointer finger. “The world’s not ending in December. Scientifically, there’s no current threat of doomsday this year – well, there’s always global warming slowly killing us. Or world war three, if Obama can’t help it. _Still_ , you can chill the fuck out.”

“High school’s ending, though.” She mutters, taking a sip from her juice. Her skin’s reddening and she should have put more sun screen. “It’ll be the end of the world for _a lot_ of people.”

“I’m waiting for Baz’s legendary breakdown at graduation.”

“God, I’d pay to have it recorded. I’ll post it on Youtube so it stays in the internet forever.”

They laugh. Bazine Netal may be one of Ben’s ‘friends’, but she isn’t very nice as a person. It’s like she’s always had something smelly under her nose whenever Rey and her group cross paths with her in the halls, or if they talk a bit louder at lunch than usual. The general consensus of their year cannot tolerate her, but she _is_ pretty and rich, so she belongs to _that_ clique.

As Ben picks up another Oreo to stuff his mouth with, Rey asks: “Are you a virgin?”

He coughs and hits his chest a few times, wheezing. Amused, she hands him his glass and tries to not let her expression show that she enjoys watching him choke on his food. He greedily drinks the whole thing and glares at her, face flushed red – with embarrassment or anger, she’ll never know. “Why the fuck would you ask me that?”

She sniggers, “I can’t believe you’ve never had sex before! _You_ – but that’s a jock stereotype!”

“So? It’s not like I’m rushing it out – _hey,_ if you’re as busy as I am, you’ll have no time to explore.”

“Maybe you should lay off the clubs, like, the school paper doesn’t really need your input on it or something.”

“ _Ha_ - _ha_. I don’t actually work on the school paper, so the joke’s on you – besides, I can say the same about you; you’re not exactly the most social between the two of us.”

“ _So!?_ At least you’d expect that from me, but _from Ben Solo_? And to think half the girls our year are all over you. You! A virgin!”

He rolls his eyes, exasperated. “There’s no point defending myself, you’re not ever going to see reason.”

“Thank you for letting me win because I’m right and you’re not.”

“Don’t mention it.” He fluffs his pillow and opens his Kindle back on.

For a few minutes, they read in comfortable silence. The sun is setting, and it’s almost dark so they’ll be called in for dinner soon (she is always welcome to eat here on her days off; her grandfather is more often than not out fishing with Han and Ben’s Uncle Luke, and they go home together when they’re back from their trip). It is obvious that Ben’s again immersed in his own little bubble, so Rey blurts out something she’s been pondering over, “We can just lose it, you know, _together_.”

When the words sink in, he loses his grip on the device, but ignores it to put his full attention on her with wide eyes. “You can’t just say things like that.”

She shrugs, picking up the Kindle and handing it to him. He accepts it inattentively, tossing it on the space beside him. “Eh, so what? It would take the pressure off. Actually a great idea, you know. At least we wouldn’t regret losing it on some drunken party in college, with someone we barely knew.”

“You can’t just proposition me for sex, it’s weird! And you’re going to make this,” he gestures between them, “extremely weird. I won’t be able to look you in the eyes for so long, and we’re always together and it’s going to be so embarrassing.”

“What’s weird about it – we’re super platonic, anyway. It’s just sex. And look, why not? You’re a virgin and I’m a virgin and it’s not so bad when you think about it – very egalitarian if you squint hard enough, or _socialist_ – _gosh, I sound so pretentious_ – and you’re not going to have to worry who you’re losing it to.”

“That’s the problem, Rey. It’s not like this is a competition and why are you so casual about this!?” He shakes his head, “It doesn’t mean that just because every body’s doing it, you’re going to do it also. Frankly, for a person who’s ‘too cool to care’ about social norms, I’m disappointed in you.”

She shoots him a glare and looks away, a wave of insecurity fleeting through her mind. God, did she make it weird between them? _Oh God_ , maybe she’s too intense; he doesn’t really want to do this with her and he’s just being nice about it. Shit, it’s definitely going to be an embarrassing dinner, and she’s never going to show up at his house again. Why does she have to run her mouth? It’s not like she gets off on teasing him – sure, the tips of his ears turn pink, and he purses his lips like he’s trying not to cringe, but at what cost?

“The world is ending, Ben. We’re going to college next year nevertheless. You _can_ always say no, let’s get that out first, but do you really want your first time to be with a girl you’ve only known from freshmen orientation?”

Ben sighs, still avoiding her gaze. He is looking overhead, at the red hues of the horizon, and the day is making way for the night, which means the mosquitoes and all those bugs will come out of their little critter houses. It’s going to be unbearable here in about ten minutes, and it will not be conducive for reading. But it’s not the concern in the forefront of their minds at the moment.

Her heart might jump out of her chest soon if he keeps on staying silent. He’s doing his very best not to catch her eyes, though she can feel his resolve crumbling. “And this wouldn’t change anything? I don’t want to mess our friendship up.”

“I swear it wouldn’t. And we can stop in the middle if we both hate it.” Will that even be possible? To not continue? He is so seriously off-limits, and she’s just pushing her luck and she may start hoping –

“How do you plan to do this then? Kiss and make out?” He mutters, finally looking at her – and if she’s seen it correctly, at her lips.

She grins, “Yeah, why not?”

He covers his face with his hands, the pack of Oreos long discarded, the playlist on its last song. “I hate you so much.”

She chuckles and wraps her arms around him, and he smells of fresh laundry and fucking mountain breeze, how is that even possible when they’ve been out in the sun the whole day?

———

They have decided to meet up at his house on an unassuming Thursday.

Rey doesn’t have a shift at the diner, and Ben’s parents are in DC because duty calls it. Uncle Luke is out somewhere with Grandpa Obi, probably in a quaker meeting because that’s the new fad in their age group apparently.

She had tried researching, found _a lot_ of information on Google (incognito, of course) and Pornhub (very unrealistic videos of people losing their virginities, didn’t help much and the sounds were embarrassing) but nothing had settled her nerves when _The Day_ came except knowing that poor Ben Solo would be worse off than her.

She shaved _everything_ ; she had to ask Jessika Pava how not to fuck up her lady bits, and it was super itchy and highly uncomfortable and Rey cut herself a few times because the razor she used was not made for intimate areas.

The underwear she has on is generic – plain, white cottons – because the goal of this affair is for them to finally be free of this traditional societal hazing into adulthood, not to entice or repeat the experience – which, give or take, will probably be awkward as hell. She is wearing a maroon shirt dress, because that’ll be the easiest to take off and get back on, and she lets her hair down (despite the heat!) because Cosmopolitan.com said guys like it when they have something to hold on to.

Sure, Ben isn’t really the worst person to lose your virginity to – Rey should know; she had the biggest crush on him in kindergarten which she got over with when she realized he was just taller than everyone. He’s going to be gentle like the boy Leia had raised him to be, and will attempt to make jokes when she gets uneasy. He will probably insist she stays for dinner, will probably cook (or make a sandwich) for her too, because he will feel like he owes her when he is the one peer pressured into the whole shindig.

He’s going to blush furiously, but will frown when she mentions it. She will try to make fun of his ears, and they’ll be friends at the end of the day. Nothing will have to change as promised.

When Rey knocks on his house – drastically larger than her humble middle class home, but only slightly smaller than a full-scale mansion; it had double doors and everything – Ben answers the door as if he’s about ready to puke all the things he ate this morning and the day before. “You’re here early.”

She shrugs nonchalantly, walking past him and to the kitchen – like she actually lives here – to spit out her gum. “Hello to you, too.”

He groans and sits on the padded chair of the breakfast nook. “You’re very blasé about this. Can’t you see I’m freaking out?”

“You’re so dramatic, Ben. Imagine if it’s actually a girl you liked that you’re sleeping with for the first time. I’m taking one for the team.” She grins and points at herself, “They should give me a medal for my service.”

He looks at her exasperatedly – like _can you stop being you for a second_ look or _can we tone it down with the snark please_ – and sighs, “Let’s just get this over with. Do you wanna go up to my room?”

She wags her brows up and down, bumping his hips when he walked past her. “Ooh, very shameless, Mister _I’m Freaking Out._ Do you tell that to every girl who’ve propositioned you for sex?”

Again with the look. His ears do flush scarlet though. It is oddly endearing.

As they ascend the wooden stairs leading to the familiar halls of bedrooms, Rey’s nerves begin to materialize. Her heart is fluttering wildly on her chest, it’s a miracle for Ben not to hear it. Strangely, it is thrumming in the beat of his footsteps, as if they are two different songs in sync of each other. 

She doesn’t tease him when they reach his room. It seems very uncouth; here is a boy ready to fuck her just so she can tell everyone she lost her v-card at parties she’ll only be half-heartedly invited to. Sure, the benefits are deeply mutual, and there is a certain power that comes with knowing she won’t lose something so theoretically special to someone who didn’t know her well enough. It’s kind of an immunity – a shield, if you will, of emotional indifference to a physical relationship, since the pressure’s off and all. They won’t have to be vulnerable in front of strangers.

Ben locks the door and sits in the lone armchair beside the window, something from Pottery Barn – leather paddings, its frame likely built from recycled wood – and watch as Rey walks idly across the room, taking in the new books and medals that are hung on the wall. Trophies that say _Most Valuable Player_ and _Promising Student Leader of the Year 2010._ There are new records on the shelf; he’s one of those people who actually buys 12-inch vinyls because his dad bought him a turn table, very unlike guys their age who pirate songs off Youtube – some of which you could hear the dialogue in the music videos they stripped them from.

He’s invested in a bigger bed, and to be fair the last time she was here was when she’s a ten year-old who hung around to watch him play Resident Evil 4 on his PS2. Of course things will change; it is never healthy to stay in a metaphorical box and it’s a good sign he outgrew the need to ask her to sleep over because he is scared to stay in the dark by himself after playing.

You can’t always do that – there are expectations for boys and girls when you start having double digits in your age. Going to a boy’s room with him alone will be scandalous – even if, at a young age, Rey’s pretty independent and will take no shit from the opposite sex. Her grandfather will have a field day scolding her; if he finds out she’s here, she’ll be grounded all summer.

It’s quite funny that she’s going to have sex for the first time in this room, somehow a cathartic experience altogether.

His walls are beige, a far cry from the light blue it used to be. The Sky High and Narnia posters are all gone, now replaced with a framed Back to the Future poster – “ _Retro_ ,” she mouths at him – and a signed Stephen Curry GSW jersey. His floor isn’t covered with shirts, and his Nikes were stacked neatly in a rack beside the door.

She stops in front of a picture of Leia and Han from one of the trips Obi had asked her to come along to. She knows because she remembered; she was the one holding the camera, and he was the one to catch the square film as it dispensed from the printer, his little grubby hands shaking it furiously so it developed with more color. The edges are a bit faded due to the sun exposure from the large window, but it adds to the appeal and the sentimentality of it all. Who will have thought Ben Solo actually liked his parents?

She turns to him, hands clasped in front of her like a woman closing a business deal – in a way, it sort of is. “Did you really clean your room?”

He blinks twice, and the afternoon light from the glass reflects favorably at the side of his face and the tops of his mid-length, wavy hair; he is particularly akin to a pouty Apollo, all luminous and golden (in her defense, she had just finished reading the book).

The room isn’t small, but it only takes five steps for her to stand directly in front of him. He is ridiculously tall, so he doesn’t have to raise his head up so much for it to be angled to hers.

Lightly, she runs one hand through the tips of his hair and touches his cheek with the other, tracing his freckles and his beauty marks with the pad of her thumb; his lips are slightly chapped but it’s still temptingly full, as if they only speak of words that makes you give in. When her finger brushes its corner and her other hand stills on his nape, he closes his eyes.

Slowly, she crouches down so that her face levels his, and she presses a gentle kiss on his nose, then the spot between his eyes, because there’s always a line that appears there whenever he’s frowning. She kisses his right cheek, the one that has this deep dimple when he smiles, and kisses his left cheek so it wouldn’t get lonely. Finally, she kisses his lips, and it is soft and lovely, but it ends too soon.

“Are you okay?” She murmurs, inches away. For a moment, everything’s quiet – she keeps staring at his unmoving face, the hint of distress on his brows and the downturn of his lips. There is, again, the insecure voice in the back of her mind that tells her he doesn’t like the way she kissed, that she isn’t very good at this and maybe she should have done more research. Maybe he is trying hard not to cringe, or he is finding words to express how very _not_ into this he is. She drops her hands and starts to pull away.

His eyes flies open, panicked. “Wait, no.”

She frowns at him, “Do you want to stop?”

It may actually break her heart if they do; that was her first real kiss.

He shakes his head, “I’m trying very hard not to humiliate myself.”

_Same._ She thinks and smiles, pointing to his lap. “Can I sit?”

He blushes furiously and nods. She takes a deep breath, toes out of her black Vans, and marginally lifts the ends of her skirt so she could open her legs wide enough that they land on both sides of his thighs. “This okay?”

“Yeah, _yeah._ It’s great.” Tentatively, he puts his ( _too large)_ hands on her hips, pulling her an inch closer. “I feel so strange.”

“I think the right term is _turned on._ ” She goads him, bracing herself on his shoulders. He pinches her side at the unappreciated remark and she can’t help the mortifyingly girlish squeak that has gotten loose from her mouth.

Again, she touches his cheeks and lowers her lips to his.

This kiss, although as thrilling as the first, is entirely different. For one, he is now an active participant and is kissing her back enthusiastically, and it makes her shiver even if it’s a bit sloppy. His right hand edges the trims of her dress, and when his cold fingers touch the skin of her thigh, she accidentally bites on his lower lip. It elicits a low groan from the back of his throat, the tip of his tongue licks the entrance of her mouth. She opens them a little to grant him access – tasting hints of spearmint toothpaste – as her hands wander to his jaw, to his sinfully soft hair and lightly pull as they settled on the back of his neck, pressing herself closer.

His fingers are under her skirts, tracing frustrating patterns on the span of skin like he is finger painting. Rey can’t help but think he’ll be particularly good at _stimulation_ with those fingers and his ability to play an actual piano. In all honesty, she wishes he’ll give her the same dedication he peruses a music sheet.

She can feel the growing sign of his arousal from under her thighs, and she scoots a little bit more so that she could grind her crotch on it and chase friction. When she does though, their moans were a surprise that she pulls her mouth away and rests her forehead on his, giving them time to catch their breaths. “Fucking hell.”

The hand that wasn’t under her dress wanders up, settling a little below her tits. He gives her a quick peck on the lips as if asking for permission, and gives it a squeeze when she nods. This time, the groan comes just from him. “You’re going to be the death of me, Rey. They’re so perfect.”

She laughs, breathless, and kisses him again.

———

It went like how first times are supposed to go.

Once Ben has exhausted in kissing her neck, Rey stands up, pulls the dress over her head, and tosses it on the floor. He stares as if he is star struck; knuckles white from clutching the armrests, pupils dilated to cover the browns of his irises, lips parted slightly. She grabs his wrist and pulls him to his feet.

He strips down – first, his grey shirt, then his light washed jeans – as she makes herself comfortable at the head of the bed, now both in their underwear. He bites his lips and tries to hide his erection with his hand, in which she sends him a smirk.

It seems like the smirk infuriated him, so he crawls to her and makes home between her open legs. Once more, they are locked in an overdue make out session, his hands trailing all over her body; “So perfect,” he whispers to her lips as he lowers the cups of her bra, rolling a nipple appreciatively. His other hand wanders downwards, under the garter of her white panties, groaning when he feels that she is hairless.

“What, you think you’re the only one who’s made preparations?” She grins, and he sticks his tongue out at her. She swats his shoulder playfully, “You know, the purpose of this activity is for you to fuck me. Stop delaying and just put it inside.”

“I’m literally about to finger bang you, why are you still talking?”

“I’m _literally_ waiting for you to — _oh shit_.” She gasps when a finger slides between her folds, the sounds so obscene echoing around the room.

“I don’t wanna be cliché, but Rey, I know just how to shut you up.” He says with a small breathless laugh, kissing her throat and sucking bruises on the skin. “You’re so wet – can you take another one?”

She groans in pleasure as he thrusts the lone digit in and out and slightly curls it inward. She is so sensitive down there, she can feel everything. “Yeah. It’s good? I – _I’m_ _good_.”

“Okay.” He puts another finger in and thrusts, all the while his hardened cock continues to press on her inner thighs. It makes her feel full, but in a heavenly way, unlike anything she ever felt before. She thinks it should sting, but it doesn’t and it’s just good and he adds another finger in, and there is just a little more moaning and groaning from both of their throats.

“Maybe you should take my panties off,” she suggests, heart thrumming wildly in her chest, “and maybe you should take your boxers off, too.”

“Right.”

He pulls away to do so. She affixes her attention on his window to avoid staring at his dick, saves them both the embarrassment. She won’t be able to look at him in the eye if she does – or maybe she can, depending on what happens. He hovers over her, their gazes meeting. “Do you think you’re ready? You’re on pills, right? Or do I need a condom?”

As always, she resorts to teasing to mask the anticipation (or the nervousness, she’s too far out to discern now), “I am, yes, to regulate my period –”

Growling, he cuts her off with a deep kiss, “Can you _not_ joke around for once in your _fucking_ life –“

“Fine, sure, _okay_ – it’s now or never, Ben.” She murmurs, raising her hand to touch his cheek. With their pulses seemingly synchronized and his body covering her, Rey feels safe.

_Last chance to back out, Solo._

She nods.

The tip of his cock brushes her entrance, making her shudder and bite her lip. He scatters soothing kisses all over her face, down her neck, and pushes in further. Unlike his fingers, the stretch is so much that she actually whimpers, and it makes him stop to consider her as he pants in and out raggedly. “Go on; I think I can take it. Just – do the thing.”

Ben scrunches his brows, pressing his lips together – which are beautifully swollen at this point. “You tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

“Yes.” Rey holds on to his biceps, pawing at his muscles when the sting is a little too much; she expects the pain, it’s nothing she can’t take. She inhales when he tries to thrust, and the initial discomfort fades a bit, then he does it again and the movement lodges him further inside her. “I think it’s good now. Feels better. You can probably try more.”

“ _Hnngh_ – _fuck_ , you sure?” He starts to move, his breaths much more irregular now. She runs her hands encouragingly up and down his back as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. He hooks both of his hands beneath her thighs, hiking them up to get a better angle.

They manage to find a rhythm eventually, and Rey swears she didn’t count, but Ben had lasts five whole minutes before he comes. With the help of his magical fingers pressing on her clit while he rides out the lasts of his bliss, twenty seconds later she does too.

They stare at each other when it’s all done, trying to calm the ringing in their ears and catch their breaths. When he has his under control, he collapses on top of her and rests his chin on her chest. He gives the valley between her breasts a lingering kiss and sighs, “I do like these.”

She giggles, sweeps the stray hairs sticking on his damp forehead. The vibrations make them aware of his softening dick still lodged inside her. “It’s lovely conducting business with you.”

“You are the _worst_ , Rey Kenobi.” He grunts, pressing his nose on her skin and inhaling deeply before pulling out. The trickle of their mixed fluids on the bed makes her frown – they need to get this washed before Uncle Luke gets home with Obi, but that’ll probably be a good five hours away.

_So that’s it – it’s done. Just like that._

They lay on their backs, eyes on the ceiling. She rearranges her bra, but doesn’t bother with her panties just yet. Post-orgasmic Rey oddly doesn’t want to get up from her sated state, believes she deserves to laze around. He, too, seems happy to put on his boxers and not anything else. “I have tissues in the drawer beside your head if you need it. You can borrow my clothes if you want.” He offers.

She only hums offhandedly. “Was there blood?”

“What?”

“On your dick – was there blood?”

He wets his lips, “Yeah, a bit on the tip. There was some in your…”

“Cunt.” She supplies helpfully, and she can feel him getting flustered. It is so easy to ruffle his feathers, it isn’t even challenging anymore. Still fun though. “Good. I’m almost worried I’m not a virgin anymore; did you know you can split your hymen when you ride a bike? I read it on Cosmo so it must be true.”

“Rey, you don’t have a bike.” He drawls.

She shrugs, staring up at nothing. “Finn taught me how to ride a bike last spring break. After my shifts in the past month, he teaches me how to ride a motorcycle. Once I get my license, I’ll fix Obi’s old scooter so I didn’t have to ride the school bus. Did you know he’s got a Vespa? It’s vintage.”

He tosses her the fleece blanket under his head when she shivered, and she covers her lower half with it. “I can drive you around, you know. Our houses are like five minutes away from each other on foot.”

“What, and be seen around the school together? No, thank you. I can’t stand your friends. They’ll make a big deal of it.” She sighs, closing her eyes.

“You know I never really cared about that, right? It’s important to me that you know _._ ” He snorts, nudging her side, “I didn’t care about being seen with Rey ‘the brute’, who punched Beaumont Kin ‘cause he pulled her hair in pre-K.”

She basks in the warmth that his words give her, her heart fluttering erratically in her chest. Because she’s a little shit and despite what they’ve already done, his words still feel too intimate for her that she has to make another quip, “Yeah, and _you’re so cool_ because you watch old movies and listen to some old, sociopolitical rock bands on repeat.”

“Shut up. Fleetwood Mac isn’t sociopolitical.” He hands her the iPod Touch on his bedside table, “You wanna pick the music then?”

She opens his music app and taps on the playlist of songs she’s added just to annoy him but grew to love over the summer. Tina Arena’s Burn plays from the speakers, and she turns her face to see his reaction. His nose is scrunched up adorably, but he doesn’t make any comment about it.

She smiles, “You are such an elitist.”

His eyes meet hers, “It feels like the climax of a 2000’s chick flick.”

“Exactly! That’s the vibe I was going for.”

He rolls his eyes, trying really hard not to grin as she sings at the top of her lungs – “Laugh for me, cry for me. Pray for me, fly for me. Live for me, die for me!”

“Can’t you just enjoy, I don’t know, Green Day or something? Your energy feels chaotic; I think you’ll relate to Green Day on a spiritual level. You like angry pop punk bands, don’t you?” He suggests when she is done, the next song – Piano In The Dark by Miss Brenda Russell herself – playing. She raises a brow curiously and lowers her voice to mock him, “Can’t you just, I don’t know, let me enjoy my songs in peace?”

“Technically, they’re _my_ songs.”

“If you hate them so much, why didn’t you delete them?”

“Because you keep saying I’m an elitist!”

“ _Because you are!_ ” She laughs, handing the iPod Touch back to him. When the song’s over, he clicks on _his_ playlist and the opening beats of New Radical’s You Get What You Give reverberates from the device.

“ _This_ is very early turn of the millennia movie score.”

“Yeah, but it’s actually the good kind.”

Rey glares at him, “Just because it’s performed by a cocky vocalist doesn’t mean it’s good. And look, New Radicals disbanded after one album; it means they probably didn’t like the songs they were making.”

“They disbanded because they hated touring. Check your facts, Kenobi.” Ben gives out a small smile, eyes bemusedly scrolling through the list. “There’s also something cool about getting out when you’re at the top; you get to leave on your own terms, not because you weren’t selling enough.”

She lets that sink in for a second, but then deadpans: “They didn’t even reach number one. The band’s literally a one-hit wonder.”

“You know what I mean.”

They stay quiet for a few minutes, letting Gregg Alexander belt out his frustrations on health insurance and soul-sucking capitalists. She always thought it’s a great song – both lyric-wise and music-wise – but Rey’s not going to say a word. He’ll stare at her like he is saying “I told you so” without actually uttering them, and his ego’s inflated enough as it is.

The next song transitions smoothly to Fall Out Boy’s What A Catch, Donnie _._ Which he probably added more for her benefit than his.

She rolls her body sideways to him, her hands pillowing her head. “So… we’re no longer virgins.”

He gives her a glance, the tips of his ears turning red as they linger a little down below, on her cleavage. She holds back a giggle when he clears his throat and continues glaring at the beige walls. “You’re very naked in my bed, Rey, and your current position makes it so that _they_ get… _squished_ together.”

“It’s just boobs, Ben. They’re not even big.” She smirks at his apparent chagrin.

Ben purses his lips, then takes another peek at her, longer this time. “If you don’t want me to jerk off in loving memory of your tits, then please try not to tease me.”

She laughs so widely that her jaw starts to ache. “You’re really going to get off thinking of my _tits_?”

He nods, his neck tinged pink. “I am a guy. _They_ look great.” Another glimpse, like he is taking a picture with his mind for later. Framing the image and hanging it on the wall of the most private place in his head.

“I’m offended; I thought they were perfect?”

He groans, putting an arm over his eyes. “You have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.”

“Seeing as I’m currently naked on your bed – no, I really have none.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

He nods again, then sighs. “This isn’t going to change anything, right?”

Her smile falters, and she is glad he can’t see. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

She takes a second to really look at him – the bruises she’d sucked marring his skin, the calloused hand covering his eyes, the dark curls framing his head, his sharp jawline – overall, he’s so beautiful and perfect and it kind of hurts that _this_ is all there is to it. He makes the insides of her chest clench, like a burn that soothes because it’s warming with the affection she harbors for him, but also a burn that stings of longing. In the end, they aren’t meant for more.

Personal feelings aside, this is what they had agreed on. They stay as friends who only talk outside of school, and that’s it. She sits with her buddies at lunch, and he does the same with his cronies. They will pretend they had their first times with someone else, pretend not to know each other when they pass by.

He will not meet her eyes, and she will act like she doesn’t know the taste of his lips or the sounds he makes when he’s in the cusp of orgasm. They will go on with their lives, free and burdened with each other all the same, because in this moment she is his.

And he is hers, if only a while.

———

When she gets home that night, there is a message from him on her phone: _thank you for today, means a lot_

She sends him a picture of the overly attached girlfriend meme with the caption ‘ _happy four-hour anniversary’._

He sends back an angry face emoji.

———

The next day, Rey asks if they are still on to binge watch Sherlock on Sunday just to give her a reason to text him.

She waits and waits for her phone to vibrate with a reply all throughout her shift, but it doesn’t.

It isn’t unusual for him to take long to text back – Ben is dragged to different functions sometimes without notice; he’s had a small Wiki page on him because of his parents, so it’s not like he doesn’t have a lot to do. For all she knows, he’s vacationing with his other friends or something.

But can’t he at least cancel on her first? It’s not like she can’t take it – she’s a big girl.

———

She lets a week pass by, doesn’t come to his house for Sherlock the previous Sunday, before texting him again. No answer from his end.

When she walks by his house on the way to work, his car is parked in their garage, so she knows he’s still in town. She doesn’t bother knocking, pretends she doesn’t notice, but feels a bit stupid about her conflicting emotions because he doesn’t owe her shit. He can text whenever he wants, _whoever_ he wants, and he can choose not to reply to people he doesn’t want to talk to.

_Are we ok?_ Her last message reads.

It is left unanswered, along with the others.

———

_You can tell me you regret it Ben_

_You can even cancel plans if you want to_

_But ignoring my messages??? Real mature_

_Sorry if I did something wrong but if you didnt wanna be friends anymore least you can do is tell me I am fine w it_

Her side of the conversation is depressingly stacked together because of his non-existent replies, and in her frustration, she deletes the messages and his number. Deletes the email chain with the books he’d recommended. Deletes the pictures he took of her the past few weeks. When she checks his Facebook profile, Ben has already unfriended her.

Traces of their friendship gone. Even the bruises he’d sucked on her skin has faded, as if they weren’t there to begin with.

For the first time ever, Rey cries because of a boy.

———

The next time they meet is at the diner one week before their senior year starts.

Meet is a generous term – no, it’s just that Ben has been sitting in one of the booths when Rey enters her workplace and clocks in for the afternoon shift. She doesn’t even notice he is there, only knows of it when Maz points it out to her after forty-five minutes of her dabbling around the kitchens. “Young Solo’s been there since lunch. Maybe he’d finally order now that you’re the one who’d take it.”

Rey is about to refuse, but then thinks better of it because one – it’s her job and she’s known to practice appropriate workplace etiquettes; two – she’ll like to show him that she’s doing _fine_ , and contrary to popular belief, she does have a sense of self-preservation, thank you very much.

She schools her face to drop any hint of what she’s feeling, masks it with a neutral smile, and walks toward his slumped body over the table.

First thing she notices is that this couldn’t be hygienic; they did wipe everything and disinfect as much as they can before going home, but it’s not really recommended to put your face on surfaces dedicated for public use. Secondly, she does, in fact, hate that he is still so put together without even trying. She hates him – she doesn’t before, but seeing him in person makes way for the anger to blossom beyond the hurt clouding her chest.

“Maz, I’m not ready to order yet.” Ben grunts, muffled by the table and his sleeves.

She counts to three then exhales softly, bringing up her notepad and pen in front of her like a shield. “Welcome to Maz’s, what can I get you?”

Slowly, he brings his head up and catches her eyes. It almost makes her tear up that he doesn’t even have bags under them, like he has been sleeping so soundly, all the while she stays up every night thinking where she went wrong. His hair looks healthy, as if it is so easy to run her fingers through them and not get them tangled when she reaches the tips (and she knows, _oh, how she knows_ ). He looks how he always does, and if she speaks now, she may regret the things she’ll say.

“Rey.” He whispers, still not letting go of her gaze. She drops her smile and waves the notepad in his face. “What can I get you?”

“Rey, can we talk –”

“I’m working right now, Solo. If you won’t order, I will have to ask you to please leave –”

“No, wait – sure, whatever, can I have a coffee then?”

She scribbles it on her paper, then glances at him again. “Anything else?”

“What time do you get off, Rey? I have something to tell you.” He asks, rummaging through his pocket for something.

She frowns at him, but doesn’t let another second pass that he can talk to her; she walks back to the kitchens and tells Maz his order.

The older woman rolls her eyes and leaves her to fry the bacons and eggs. Rey doesn’t come out until it is closing time, and Maz has gone in the back office to take care of the inventory.

When she leaves the room with her supplies in hand, Ben is still there, unwavering in his vigil. It’s nine in the evening.

Annoyed, she makes a show of dropping her bucket and plunging her mop into the suds crassly. He turns to her, standing up.

“You should leave, we close early on Tuesdays.” She mutters before he can say another word, walking past him and starting to stack the mono-block chairs into one side.

“Rey, can we please talk for a minute?” He asks again, grabbing the chair she was holding and putting it down.

She brings her eyes up to glare at him, “There’s nothing to talk about, Solo. You have to leave, or I’ll call the cops on you for trespassing.”

He makes a face, “What? I’m not _trespassing_ , Maz told me it’s okay.”

_Fucking Maz and her fucking glasses that doesn’t see that Ben Solo is a terrible person who leaves people on read._ She inwardly curses and resumes her task. “Then stay in your corner. I have to clean up.”

“I’ll wait and drive you home.” He says, sitting in one of the stools. She doesn’t pay him any attention, but even she can admit that she is being careless with her work. She’s just very agitated and _not_ at all affected by him.

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

She keeps quiet.

“I, okay – I’m sorry, okay? For not replying – I didn’t know the ethics of the after. There isn’t exactly a manual for this. I freaked out and I know –”

“Right. No, yeah, you couldn’t search it on Google so you just didn’t do anything.” She snorts, “Sure, that’s probably a good guess and if there ever was a _manual_ , I’m pretty certain it’s written there somewhere.”

“That’s not what I mean, okay? Can you just stop putting words in my mouth?” His voice is rising a little, and if she faces him, she’ll expect to see his cheeks stained pink. “I didn’t know – I wanted to reply, fuck, I wanted to see you. I wasn’t thinking. I can’t – I just, I didn’t know what to say.”

“So instead you say nothing.”

“It’s a dick move, yes. I am trying not to mess it up, and I failed, I know that.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“It’s your birthday and we always spend it together. I didn’t want to miss it.” He tells her, sighing. “I just, well – how do you want me to act, Rey? You said nothing would change, but I can feel it _changing_. I wasn’t like this before, fucking hell. It feels so strange, but I –”

She wets her lips – it feels dry all of a sudden. She swallows the lump in her throat that’s making it harder to breathe; she’s panicking and she needs to put her guard up. “You know what,” she whirls around to face him, hands clutching a dishrag like an anchor, “if you feel so _strange_ or something, let’s both agree to just forget about what happened. I don’t need you hanging around feeling weird just because you regret it. I apologize, peer pressure wasn’t entirely out of the question here, and I should have known you weren’t exactly happy to be my friend in the first place. You can go now, I release you of your responsibilities or whatever.”

“I think you misunderstood –”

“Misunderstood? I can take a hint, Ben.” She crosses her arms defensively. Call her petty but she wants him to hurt the way she does, even just a fraction of it. “Not answering my texts sure was a bit vague and I would think you’re busy, but unfriending me on Facebook was a slap to my face. And you don’t have to explain anything, you don’t have to wait until closing to drive me home – you’re not my fucking boyfriend. You aren’t even my friend now, to be fucking honest.”

He looks like he’s punched in the gut, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles are almost white. His lips presses into a thin line and his eyes harden; he is putting up his own shields and is choosing his words carefully, the internal battle within him so apparent because he wears his heart on his sleeves. After a few moments, he finally settles on: “It’s late, Rey. It’s not safe to go home by yourself at this hour.”

She lets go of his stare and affixes them down her sneakers, hands at her sides. “Maz drives me home when I close; you don’t have to look out for me.”

He nods, scrambling down the seat and laying something on the granite countertop. She can hear him walk to the exit, she doesn’t even glance up when she hears the door open, then close. Doesn’t move when the headlights of his car reflect on the large window, and breathes only when she discerns the distinct sound of his tires scratching the asphalt.

When she peers around, she is alone.

Rey walks over to where he was seated and picks up the thing he left behind – a braided friendship bracelet she’s given to him ten years ago on their pretend wedding.

_Friendship over then?_ She bites her lower lip to stop it from trembling, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Happy fucking birthday to me.”

—————

**Spring, 2019**

_New York City_

Rey would like to be free of Ben Solo’s stare at some point in the day, thank you very much.

It seems impossible that ever since she accepted his friend request last week, his face follows her wherever she goes. But it’s true because it keeps happening – he is always within her eyesight; in the elevator ( _The Elevision should not be showing movie trailers! The ride isn’t long enough!_ ), near the coffee machine ( _Who is his PR guy and why do they have to have his face on a newspaper? It’s 2019, for fuck’s sake!),_ even in the office washroom ( _Who reads magazines in the fucking toilet? Bring your phones, you cowards!_ ).

Muttering to herself about her luck, she caves in and picks up one of the magazines – teen vogue _–_ with his face on it as she waits for her lunch, peruses the table of contents, and switches to the page with the cover article.

It reads: _Pride and Provocation – Ben Solo talks humble beginnings, regrets, and how to be successful without really trying._

_There’s not a person in the country that doesn’t know of Ben Solo, son to Presidential-hopeful, Senator Leia Organa, and former-Olympic athlete Han Solo._

_Perhaps previously, he is only known because of his influential background, making him the boy your fathers will want to marry you off to. As a Columbia alum who majored in Physical Sciences, you used to often see him buried under books and research and taking on the most brutal program there is; these days however, he has been busy snagging roles left and right – from villainous police detectives to aloof leading men in tight-fitting breeches and tail coats, be it on stage or the big screen._

_Our team has managed to catch up with the actor and talk about his art, and how he got here. He is known to be very private, does not have a scandal under his name, and hasn’t been caught with an arm candy. When I brought it up, he jokingly said, “I don’t particularly like the attention that much, so I rarely date. Save both me and my non-existent partner the trouble.” Then, he went on to talk about how that prepared him for his latest role – something akin to a modern Mister Darcy that he isn’t at liberty to disclose. “Sadly, it’s more of letting go of the people you care about just because you couldn’t make them happy; I’m sure we’ve all been to that place… where you’re going to prioritize the other person’s feelings above your own. Obviously, this job isn’t exactly the type to let you keep things in private, and it really takes a toll on your relationships over time.”_

_I nod along as he clears his throat, taking a sip from his San Pellegrino while the stylist puts last touches on his unnecessarily beautiful hair. It is almost a crime how gorgeous it looks on him; he said it was “organic”, brought upon by his grandmother’s genetics. Swoon._

_“I took one film studies class as an elective and didn’t look back.” He quips, smiling cheekily when inquired how he went from Science to something so far out as acting. “No, just kidding – I’m not sure, it was always about books for me. I had one understudy part back in high school and didn’t even do the actual play, so I didn’t know either. I guess it had always been there – a close friend used to say I was very dramatic, and Poe – Poe Dameron – my roommate, we were weeks from graduation and I am absolutely burned out while he goes to all these plays and have all the fun. I just know if I continue and find a job solving another equation or doing research, I’m gonna go insane._

_“So he suggested I try performing because, well, I help him rehearse sometimes and it’s amazing – bear in mind that this was way back. I did some stuff for Gap, etcetera and my headshot was out so it’s just there. Auditioned for some plays; my mom almost lost her mind, to my dad’s amusement. It’s quite a mess, she was generally supportive to it as a hobby, but eventually she made peace with it to be a full-time thing. I mean, you have to understand, it’s four years in Columbia and just – poof, don’t need these anymore. Good bye.”_

_When asked about his past relationships, he chuckles nervously and shakes his head. “I could count them in one hand – like I said, I don’t do it much. I did enjoy the time I spent dating, but the last time I’m afraid for it to end was ages ago. I don’t think it was ever even given the chance —_

_“_ — for Rey! One crunchy chicken burrito for Rey!” The counter girl calls from the take-out booth, waving her to-go bag in her face.

Rey blinks, puts the magazine back in the stand, and walks over to get her lunch. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome!
> 
> Chapters are barely edited so excuse the mistakes. Will range from 5k+ words each of the six chapters and I am not sure how this ends.
> 
> Also - that was my very first attempt at a sex scene lmao 
> 
> Stay safe always!
> 
>  **EDIT:** Trying to add work skins lol i love staying up late when i have work tomorrow.


	2. Sun, part II

**Spring, 2013**

_San Francisco_

Of course he is late – nobody has the guts to be late on their own mother’s birthday but him. Nobody has the right excuse, because he’s _perfect_ and he’s extremely _busy_ with all the extracurriculars at school. He’s just _so_ involved with the paper, you’ll have to forgive him. Maybe check with his secretary next time before you make invitations.

Rey has to roll her eyes. It’s almost eight in the evening now, and she has to eat, otherwise she won’t be very friendly and Han will imply that she’s only like _this_ because his son isn’t here yet and no one can tame the beast but him.

She’s not in a bad mood because of his tardiness, she’s just hungry. _She’s just hungry!_

She hasn’t eaten the whole day in preparation for this dinner; Leia’s lasagna is the best and she can devour it instantly. Luke had timed it before – three minutes for the whole tray, along with a bunch of garlic bread. They called her “Garfield” for a whole _year_.

The adults are sitting together with Billy Joel playing almost mutedly in the background while they make light conversations and drink wine – that she is prohibited to, she isn’t of age yet. It’s not as if she hasn’t tried before – Rose had brought a bottle of vodka when they went to the beach two weeks ago, and Maz lets her sneak in a few sips whenever she’s not busy berating her about social privileges and her short temper on rude customers.

Sipping the orange juice she had been served with, Rey glares at the tin-foiled lasagna and imagines it’s Ben Solo’s perfect face. Even thinking about him gets her on edge these days.

_Fuck Ben Solo. Let him go to prom with Bazine Netal. They can rot in hell together, bunch of devil spawns._

Except that Han and Leia aren’t the devil; it’s just stupid Ben who asks people to prom on cold nights and then goes with the worst of the worst when they reject him.

_I can’t believe the – who gave him the right?_

At lunch last week, when Bazine Netal opened the cafeteria doors screaming that she’s going with him to the dance, Rey’s only working braincell whispered to her insistently as she tried to appease the headache she’d gotten from rolling her eyes too hard: _You did reject him, idiot. You don’t have any reason to be this mad._

She had half a mind to corner Ben that afternoon just to spite the girl – but he is a _traitor_. It doesn’t matter who asked who, what matters is that they are going to prom together, and it’s just unacceptable. Totally unjustifiable. Nothing can convince Rey otherwise.

Regardless of their current falling out, he should not have fraternized with the enemy. He can’t stand _her_ either. How could he? (and also: _Are they dating now? Is he going to start taking her to his mother’s parties? Should Han be worried that he’s going to have a different daughter-in-law? Or – oh god, do I have to endure her annoying comments off-school too?_ )

“Kid! My goodness, I thought I was gonna starve to death.” Han looks up from his conversation with Uncle Lando, which makes Rey look up because there’s no reason not to acknowledge his presence – they are always seated together at family dinners; Leia had figured long ago that they would act out less if they have somebody to talk to. These days though, Rey would really rather eat silently beside her grandfather than try to swallow the food she did not chew because she’s much too conscious of the boy sitting beside her to get her jaw working.

Their eyes briefly meet, like two magnets that acknowledge the pressure between them but do not stick together, one is bound to look away first – it is always him who does. When he goes to kiss his mother’s cheek, she takes her time observing him. He has his hair half-up, half-down, how he keeps it whenever he plays so the strands won’t get in the way of his eyesight. The tips of it are wet, as if he forgot to take the rubber band off before showering. They shine like they are meant to blind, and they curl at the end to soften the blow. She knows for a fact that he barely recalls the brand of the shampoo he uses – he gets whatever sounds un-intimidating at the store, something in a black bottle that doubles as a body wash – and it makes her ridiculously angry that his hair looks unfairly beautiful; if she thinks hard enough, she can remember –

Rey exhales through her nose and clenches her fist on the skirt she’s elected to wear tonight. She needs to cut it with the stupid musings. It’s not like she hasn’t learned how easy it is to get lost in him.

Her stare immediately goes back to the tray in front of her, hearing Ben walk around the table and stop at the seat on her left. He drops his gym bag on the floor with hardly any muff. “Yes, sorry. I got held up with the SC meeting after practice. What did I miss?”

She groans inwardly, summoning all her strength to avoid voicing out what she wants to say: _Do we need to make an appointment to celebrate your mother’s birthday, you overweening dick?_

Leia hums, reaching for his plate and turning it up. “Nothing much, dear. Just us old people catching up. Are you ready for the game this weekend?”

“Yeah, sure.” He pulls out his chair and Rey blanches at the creaking sound of the wood scraping against the granite tile.

“Good, great. Let’s go Falcons, whatever.” Luke comments hurriedly, waving his hand as if wanting to wrap up the small talk. “Now that you’re here, how about we eat? I could feel Rey’s _hanger_ from my seat.”

Blood rushes up to her face, and she breathes in to stop herself from sinking in her seat when they start to laugh. _That’s why nobody likes you, Luke._

“Fine, _fine_.” Leia peels off the tin foil, winking at her. “Rey gets the first serving.”

She can’t help smiling despite her embarrassment; Leia is one of the nicest people she knows, and to Ben’s annoyance, Rey would pretend she was her mom. She never hesitated to attend school events on her behalf, had once baked a batch of cupcakes for her to bring to their class party. Rey had always loved her for it.

“I swear – sometimes, she’s more your child than I am.” Ben mutters, grabbing his fork and piercing a sweet potato from the roasted chicken platter.

“Don’t be jealous, you don’t even like my lasagna.”

“True, but you literally have a picture of the two of you in the hall.”

Han perks up, wagging his brows suggestively, “Would you rather it be yourself and Rey?”

Rey’s large bite of garlic bread goes down the wrong pipe, and as she tries to abate the choking with her juice, she sends a glare at the infuriating meddler, who only shrugs in response.

Ben scoffs, dragging his food a little too belligerently over the brown glaze, “I was joking.”

“I know.” Leia ruffles her son’s hair and turns cheerfully to Governor Ackbar. Rey licks her lips and moves to get another large serving; it is with purpose – she _is_ hungry, obviously. Also, it doesn’t hurt that it gives her an excuse not to talk. Who will want to speak to a girl with her mouth full?

She tunes out the conversation when they include budget cuts and federal spending, gun control restrictions, and mundane happenings at their high school. Ben speaks for the both of them as he always seem to have all the stories and an endless amount of opinion about whatever current events all the adults are talking about. She sometimes reckons they’re all just including the two of them so they can rebuke how they – as kids – should view the world ideally, and it grates on her nerve. In all honesty, she doesn’t even bother to contribute to the topics at hand, do they really think she’ll listen to their exhortations?

Maybe when they try harder to fast track legalizing same-sex marriage or do something more progressive, she’ll start to half-listen. It certainly won’t be any time soon, though.

In the midst of her third serving, Rey is asked something she hasn’t been able to catch. “Sorry?”

Han chuckles, “Lasagna that good, huh.”

“What are your plans for college, Rey?” Leia repeats kindly, slicing through a cherry tomato.

Rey swallows down her food and takes a sip from her glass. “I’m considering somewhere nearby. Probably CalState? I hear their Engineering program is really good.”

“Oh, I thought you were going to NYU. Ben mentioned you have enough credits to make it in.”

She shrugs, “That was the plan. But yeah, I mean – did Ben tell you that?” She turns to the boy in question, who is very much focused on his chocolate parfait. “I don’t remember telling you that.”

His brows furrow ever-so-slightly and then he looks up at her, face impassive. This is the first time since last year that they’ve spoken outside of schoolwork, when he had pointed out she had spelled a word incorrectly on her powerpoint. It made her all flustered after and she couldn’t run through the rest of the presentation without stuttering. It was humiliating, costed her a fifth of her grade.

Now she wishes the world ended that December night just so she won’t be subjected to this dinner.

“You told me last summer.” He replies, his hand tightening on his fork. She is pretty sure she didn’t tell him anything about it, knowing he’ll likely suggest stupidly expensive places to have coffee in New York. “Why aren’t you going to NYU? I thought you wanted to go?”

She counts to three to avoid telling him to fuck off, then returns her attention to Leia. “Yeah, sorry. Um… I got enough for NYU actually, but I figured, going by the pros and cons of things, CalState seems to be the smartest of options.”

“That’s too bad; I was hoping for Ben to have someone he knows when he studies in Columbia. It’s a big city.” She grimaces, “But of course, you do you. Only you would know what’s best for your own self.”

Rey smiles courteously, looking back down at her food. It makes her a little sad, what Leia had said. Sometimes, she can feel that she’s doing the _life_ thing all wrong, and that she hopes someone will make decisions for her; Obi had been helpful in raising her and she owes him everything and more, he does try his best every day – but even then, there are some things you only get when you have a parent.

She had to learn it all by herself – how to tie her hair, what to do after her first period, how to apply for the right colleges, how to bake a banana bread; it’s _just –_ it would have been nice to know that she can look up to someone and be confident that everything will be _fine_ , that the monster under the bed will not harm her because she’s curled in between sleepy hugs and mellifluous snores, that she doesn’t have to be afraid to get her tooth out because the fairy will be happy to collect them. She doesn’t need to worry about the food being inedible because they will cook it for her. No need to Google the best way to get her fever down, they will come bearing Advil and a bowl of warm soup.

Isn’t that kind of the point of having a parent? _Well_ – one of life’s harshest truths is that Rey will never truly know. She’ll just have to Google it.

“Poe’s going to Juilliard, mom. We talked about this, remember? I told you we’re getting an apartment together.”

Leia rolls her eyes, “Right, so you have _one_ friend…”

She can feel Ben stealing glances at her from the corner of her eye, and if they aren’t in front of their families, she would have told him where to stuff whatever he clearly wants to say to her. 

_God help me, why is he like this._ Rey thinks, poking the gooey cheese on top of the meat sauce. _Can he not see that this is so fucking uncomfortable and I want to stab myself with this fancy-ass fork? I can’t even enjoy my lasagna in peace._

Once she’s done with her meal, Rey clears her throat and catches Leia’s attention. “Uh, happy birthday, Leia – the dinner was lovely, but I should really get going now. I have a Maths homework I haven’t started on.” She says, then grins at her grandfather seated beside Luke. “Go crazy, old man. I’ll be okay by myself.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’m good to go. I don’t want you to walk home by yourself.” Obi makes to stand up.

She shakes her head and pushes her chair back, “Don’t be stupid, I’m going to be fine. It’s barely nine and it’s five minutes away.”

Han raises his head up amidst his heated debate about decaffeinated coffee and waves her off, “No, we don’t want you out this late alone. Ben, swallow your food and walk her home.”

“Great idea – Ben, walk her home.” Leia agrees, nodding encouragingly. “I’d be comforted knowing you’re together.”

Rey takes a deep breath and opens her mouth to rattle off her excuses, but Ben stands up to grab his jacket from the back of his chair before she can. “It’s fine, let’s go.”

She catches Han’s twinkling eyes and she swears she can almost see him rubbing his hands wickedly together – like an actual, evil mastermind.

“Please behave.” She mouths at him with wide eyes as she gestures to Obi, who’s attention is back to his conversation with Luke, clutching her cardigan and following the younger Solo out.

Once they hit the open, spring breeze, Rey shivers and wraps her arms around herself. Ben matches her pace, hands in his jacket pocket, looking like he’s all cozy and fucking _Keanu Reeves_ with his stupid black hair blowing in the wind. He’s impossible.

She doesn’t speak; it’s a short walk and it’s been agreed on that they have nothing to say to each other. The silence is unnerving; they have been friends for so long now that it’s odd not to hear him start a conversation or quip up a dry joke. She feels a little dejected, and some part of her wishes it doesn’t have to be this way.

But it’s very hard to forgive someone who you don’t really hate; the hurt you feel rots inside, poisons all the good times and the sincerity of apologies thrown in your way. It feels like preparing for a birthday party and no one shows up, the food going to waste and the candles unlit. You didn’t even get to flaunt your spanking new dress and your shiny leather sandals. It’s just disappointing, and it doesn’t matter if they have their reasons, the seed of insecurity has been planted deep.

You think about where you got it wrong, and how to fix it – how to fix _you_ – and are you so hateful that you can’t even have friends who make time for this? It gets you to hate yourself, it gnaws at every compliment you ever got. Goes back to the beginning of everything that shapes you – because at the very core of it all, it’s not about them. They love you, _they do_ , but it’s not enough.

And with things the way they are, there will come a time when forgiving is the easiest part; it goes along with accepting that this is all you’ll ever be. You can’t be someone’s _sun_ – blindingly worshipped; the reason they get up in the morning – you aren’t what completes their day.

When they reach her house, she turns around to thank him, but is a bit startled by how intense he is regarding her, like he’s stabbed in the back or something, when in fact he’s the one going to prom with the _devil_.

As she is about to ask him what the matter is, he says, “You’re really not going to NYU?”

“You know I’m not.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest defensively, returning his gaze. “Why’s it a big deal, it’s not like we’re going to the same university in the first place.”

“Yes, but you wanted to go to NYU. You had enough credits to make it.” He runs his hands through his hair, exasperated. “I just don’t know why you’d settle for a school that isn’t your first choice, it’s stupid if you think about it.”

“Stupid? Are you fucking kidding me?” She hisses through gritted teeth, “I don’t know how you can’t understand – New York is fucking expensive. I don’t exactly have a lot of disposable income and I want Obi to stop working – if you’d care to notice, he’s _ancient_ , and not everyone is a senator’s son.”

“You could have applied for a scholarship, you have good grades.” He rolls his eyes, as if the answer was _so_ obvious.

“My grades aren’t good enough for their scholarship program, okay? Do you want to hear it from me – that I’m not as smart as you?” Admittedly, another skill to add to his long list of traits is getting under her skin effortlessly, and that is saying something because her patience is endless. This is why she tries to avoid him at _all_ cost. “And I didn’t even want it; the logistics itself, I’d have to work on all my free time to afford rent and I wouldn’t be able to study. Do you know how hard Engineering is? They will eat me alive if I lose focus.”

She exhales, trying to calm the underlying anxiety of going to college for a program she’s not sure if she can see through until the end (she’s heard horror stories; there are memes of it.) “NYU is overrated, and I don’t want to be a waitress forever.”

He steps closer to her, fist clenching at his sides. “Do you want me to talk to my mom? I could get you —“

“What – no!” She scowls at him, taking two steps back. “I am not your charity case. I don’t need your pity.”

“Why do you _always_ think the worst in me?” Ben throws his head back in frustration, his knuckles turning white. “I’m trying to suggest things to help you and you always rebuff, you just _never listen!”_

Rey puts her hands on her face, wanting to scream, wanting to shake him and tell him to mind his own business, _for the love of god and all that’s holy. We aren’t friends anymore, don’t you get it? You don’t have to act so considerate – you don’t have to make moving on so much harder than it should be!_

But instead, it comes out as: “Why do you even care so much, Ben? This is the first time we’ve really talked in three months.”

Ben looks at her as if she’s missing the picture, a whole other world of things he didn’t say swirling behind his eyes – _and who’s fault is that? I’ve tried talking to you for months on end, Rey. You can’t always blame me for the decisions you make. –_ he breathes in and out evenly, and she counts up until seven before he speaks again _. “_ Get a fucking clue, Kenobi. You aren’t that dumb.”

He shakes his head, puts his hands back in his pockets, and turns to go, leaving her standing alone not knowing if she should feel really angry or extremely confused. Or both.

“ _Clue_?” She calls out to his receding figure, shoving her palm in her pocket for the key. “Maybe you should stop speaking in riddles then! You give me too much credit!”

He raises a hand, and even though it’s dark and he’s a little ways off, the outline of his middle finger stands clear in the air.

_What a fucking jerk. He doesn’t deserve to be that tall if he’s going to stoop so low._

———

The beginning of April officially opened the critically acclaimed prom season.

It’s all everyone’s been talking about – who’s going with who, hairstyles, themes, shoes, dresses, promposals, _everything._

Rey sits with Rose and Finn at lunch, both of whom are gushing about their weekend plan consisting of dress shopping, stores they’ll check out, and the movie they’ll see after – “I really don’t wanna watch Jurassic Park 3D while holding my prom dress.” Rose says, which startles out a snort from Finn. “Yeah, and Evil Dead is much better.”

Honestly, she isn’t very attentive to the conversation, contemplates on whether she’ll work a shift or catch up on schoolwork or, god forbid, watch the Falcons’ last game this season – and she isn’t fully decided about going to the dance itself. Seems like a waste of time to be buying a dress she’ll only be using for four hours at most, and some shoes that are far too expensive for them not to be comfortable.

Rose had asked Finn a couple of days ago as her date – but they are going as friends – so they have the prom jitters to talk about. Rey had been roped into third wheeling, her answer still _TBC_ , but it’s fine because she loves them and they should enjoy the experience without worrying if she’s having fun. It doesn’t seem right that they all have to be miserable together.

“How about you, Rey?” Finn flicks a grape at her, cutting her out of her reverie (it’s four weeks until final exams; she’s not grade conscious, but she’s anal enough to actually care), “What are you planning to wear? Heard from Tallie they voted on ‘enchanted forest’. Ugh, can you believe this – it’s _so_ banal. Do you know how many schools have had ‘enchanted forest’ as their prom theme the last few years? _Every_ _single_ _one_.”

“Like actual fairy lights? Fake leaves and all that shit? It’s a little immature, don’t you think?”

Rose nods, frowning. “Agreed. Just lazy. They could’ve been creative and go for Harry Potter, or like Hunger Games’ Capitol-themed dresses _._ There are a million better ideas.”

Rey shrugs, dipping the crust of her pizza in garlic butter. She finds it funny how they both try to hide how excited they are about the theme – it’s obvious that despite the mainstream oddity of it all, they _do_ like the fake leaves and fairy lights, and will probably enjoy the tea candles in those stupid mason jars. “Eh, I’ve kinda decided not to go, to be fair.”

“What!” Finn and Rose both exclaim, turning a few heads in their direction. His eyes narrow at her and he leans in to whisper, “What do you mean you’re not going? It’s fucking _prom_ – one last hurrah before real life! Dude, I’m seriously – _Rose_ , go speak with _your_ friend.”

She rolls her eyes, _here we go_. “Why aren’t you going, Rey? Do you need a date? Is that it – you don’t wanna go without?” The other girl’s frown deepens. “Because if that’s it, Snap’s been asking me about you.”

“Wexley?” Rey scrunches up her nose, “He’s an okay guy, don’t get me wrong, but doesn’t he like Jess? I don’t want to be the back up date, or worse, the _rebound_.”

Finn groans, “Who _cares_ about that? It’s not like you’ll dance with him _all night_ – just pose for some pictures, coordinate ties and dresses, that’s it! I can’t believe you’re going to miss out on prom just because you don’t have a date.”

It’s amusing to think of how they’ll react once they knew who’d asked her to prom – they most likely won’t believe it, seeing _he_ isn’t really the type to ask her, or that there are certain status quo you’ll have to put up with at this age, and it’ll be such a _scandal_ if those are to be broken by a dumb dance invitation. _Up is down, world stops spinning_ kind of thing. Definitely not worth the hassle. Rey doesn’t welcome change as openly as she’d liked.

_Again, he and fucking Bazine Netal can go to hell and stay there._ The girl cannot stop talking about it – even in class last week, when Miss Erso was discussing Orwell’s 1984, she somehow managed to align how her promposal paralleled the way Julia confesses her love for Winston, which basically made Rey throw up in her mouth, thinking: _They aren’t the same, you idiot! You’re not a dystopian heroine – you wish!_

She wonders how Ben will react when he hears it himself – _he may want to slit his throat, no exaggerations._

Rey glances across the room to where the ‘couple of the hour’ are sitting. They’re laughing at something Tai had said, the sounds distinguishable over the whole room. Bazine puts her hand on Ben’s shoulder and whispers in his ear.

The dip splashes along the edges of the container when she plunges the bread a little too aggressively. Finn shoots her a knowing look, but doesn’t point it out. Instead, he continues: “We’ll get a limo together, I don’t care. You _need_ to go. I’ll get my choir mate to go with you if you want.”

“Stop it, Finn. You’re embarrassing me. I don’t mind going without a date, okay?” Rey mutters, putting the rest of the crust in her mouth so that she can avoid speaking.

Unfortunately, her two incorrigible friends are very patient and are willing to waste lunch hour just to listen to her list out her excuses. She sighs, oddly exhausted all of a sudden. “I… don’t want to waste so much money on one night. And do you really think I’d go to prom with my hair in three buns? Because that’s the only way I know how to fix it! It’s too much effort, I wouldn’t want to humiliate myself and you guys.”

Rose wraps an arm around her, resting her chin on her shoulder. “You could _never_ humiliate us _ever._ You are perfect and you’re going to prom with us and I’ll send you YouTube links on how to do your hair. We’ll go to a thrift store later and buy a dress, I don’t care!” Finn nods at every word she’s spoken.

She licks her lips, tasting the salty grease of her lunch. It’s strangely comforting, and her friends also help. “Whatever, fine. Let’s see. I don’t know. I need to go to Maz’s before four, so we’d better hurry.”

“It’s super close, you can’t get yourself out of this one.”

———

They do get a dress – which settles it: Rey’s going to prom. _Regrettably._

But it’s okay – the dress is nice, if a little _puffy_. The light gray tulle had glitters scattered on it, and there are flowers beaded on the bodice, strung together with pearl straps. Very on-theme, pretty cheap, and clearly hasn’t been used yet. It has a tag (oddly relieving) and only needs to be adjusted a little around the bust (that Maz had volunteered to do for her).

It’s also long enough for her to wear her worn-out Vans underneath, and that is another problem solved. There’s really not enough excuse to refuse going. She’s at a dead end.

The last exams of their high school life were officially done on the final week of April. There’s a grace period of four days before the prom weekend, in which they aren’t encouraged to skip, but are permitted to (there really isn’t anything to do; The Falcons didn’t make it to the junior league’s championship this season, so there isn’t any game to watch. The senior prank’s being headed by Hennix, god knows that’s just trouble wrapped up in jokes and excuses, and Rey would rather not participate. Of course, prom committee is the fucking _worst_.)

Finn had been using the short break to help Rose look for apartments near CalState, which she’ll be sharing with Rey. They figured campus housing isn’t that _bad_ , but it can get a little suffocating especially when you’ve spent most of your day in class (and Finn wouldn’t be able to sleep over if they go sign up; the room assignments also doesn’t guarantee that they are to share the room). He had finalized his application to NYU a few weeks ago, happily accepted into their Politics program (the girls constantly teased him about it; they were both set on Engineering, so when he talks _big_ , they’re like: _running for president in 2028, Finn?_ or _don’t forget us when you’re the youngest state senator,_ and _don’t worry your pretty little head, you’ve already got my vote!_ )

They did have a good cry because of it – it’s been the three of them since middle school and it’s gonna be so different without him.

And with spring closing and summer beginning, the night finds Rey in an odd position of being drenched in the rain. In the opportune timing of things, the Vespa she had fixed last year had given out after she’d taken her finals, as if it somehow knew she’s finishing high school and won’t be needing it anymore; on days like these, she can’t even blame the poor thing – fate just works in a way she can’t really comprehend.

And it’s not like the scooter will be of any help; she’s going to be soaked no matter what – fucking climate change and unpredictable weathers, you could never get a break.

Maz had offered to drive her home after closing, but Rey refused on grounds that she finished at eight and the diner wouldn’t close until after midnight. Besides, it’s not like there aren’t any buses she can take. She’s a big girl, she’ll figure it out.

She walks to the nearest bus stop, under which the rain sets its full force on her; she almost slips a few times on the way, but thankfully had been successful and is in one piece when she reaches the lit-up waiting shed.

Her quota of bad luck for the day reaches its limits when there aren’t any trips within the next forty-five minutes. She angrily plops down on the equally wet bench and takes out her phone, and _of course_ the battery’s at 5% because she’d forgotten to charge it (she’d listened to Vices & Virtues when there’s a lull in the diner, and she didn’t exactly intercept this is what’s going to happen to her later on). She sniffs and holds out sneezing; she’s pretty sure snot’s going to run down her nose when she does. Just great – the only silver lining is if she gets sick enough, maybe she’ll finally have a reason to skip prom after all.

_Should I walk home? It’s just fifty minutes on foot._ Rey debates whether her battery would survive if she were to text Obi or Finn, but figures they aren’t able to drive in this weather. Obi has night blindness and Finn must have been _so_ exhausted walking around all day. It doesn’t seem like a great idea to have them drive when it’s almost zero visibility. Her grandfather will be worried sick though, so she should probably use her last few minutes to call him and go from there.

It takes him three rings to answer, and she is almost positive she won’t be able to start the conversation after all. It’s an old phone; the battery life’s been shit for a while now. “Hey, old man.”

“Hello, Rey. Where are you? It’s pouring like crazy.” Obi greets without preamble. “Get home soon, dear. I don’t like you being out so late in this weather.”

“Yeah, about _that_ – I’m gonna be home a bit later than I should have. My battery’s almost out and if I don’t text, don’t worry about it. The next bus trip is an hour from now so I’ll try to walk and see –”

“What do you mean you’ll ‘walk’?” He interrupts, and Rey cringes inwardly. She knows he’ll be overreacting, he always does. “No, don’t walk – take a cab, I’ll pay for – _sorry,_ no, Rey’s telling me –”

“Who’s with you?” She rubs her nose a little too roughly. It must be so pink by now. “It’s late, why are you still letting guests over? You should be asleep.”

Funnily enough, she’s fiercely protective of him too.

“It’s just young Ben. He said he’ll come pick you up. Where are you now?”

“What? _No!_ Don’t get him to pick me up, I said I’m fine – we don’t want to impose, _remember?_ ” She glances at the screen, her battery at 2%. “Besides, let’s not trouble him. I really can take care of –“

“No – this isn’t negotiable, young lady. Wait at the bus stop near Maz’s. I don’t want to hear another word.” Obi tells her, “Now sit still for ten minutes before you give your old man a heart attack.”

She exhales and grumbles a derisive “fine, bye” before hanging up. He brings up the ‘heart attack’ card like a freaking gun to a knife fight; it’s extremely unfair and unnecessary, an _overreaction_ , but effectively gets the kill nonetheless.

Rey pockets her phone and ponders over the pros and cons of walking home.

Cons: She would no doubt be _drenched_. There would not be an inch of her body that’ll be dry or that there isn’t any reassurance that her already worn-out Vans wouldn’t give up on her (she’s holding out until graduation; she’ll buy a new pair as a gift to herself right after). It’s a fifty minute walk and she’s _bone-tired_ – the long journey doesn’t bother her under normal conditions – she’s done it before – but rain does.

Obi would be fuming – and until she’s moved out for college, she’ll need to abide by his regulations (his house, his rules). Plus, this town may be generally safe, but you never know these days.

All these reasons state that the smarter choice would be to wait for Ben to arrive and take her home. The only pro of it all would be that she does not, _well_ , get trap with Ben Solo in a car, alone, for ten whole minutes (minimum).

She thinks the pros and cons are pretty equal given the circumstances. And when his black Prius arrives, she’s still considering the fifty-minute trek.

Ben pulls over on the spot in front of Rey, rolling down his window and speaking something she hadn’t caught. She squints her eyes and asks, “What?”

He’s still mouthing words she can’t understand; the heavy downpour makes it impossible to have a comprehensive conversation, but he’s trying so hard and she’s very uncooperative when the chance permits it.

Admittedly, there are times she cannot help herself to give in to the temptation of messing with him. He’s so easily annoyed, it’s funny. Even when they’re mad at each other, even more so. It’s a habit she’s trying very hard to break.

“I can’t hear you.” She enunciates stupidly, because he’s clearly telling her to get inside. _I am_ that _dumb,_ she thinks sarcastically, _and this is you giving me too much credit._

His brows are furrowed together, his arms gesturing wildly to the seat next to him. “Get,” he opens his palms and pulls it close on top of each other. Then he uses both his pointer fingers and points downward, “in.”

She scrunches her nose at him, shaking her head. How very on brand of him to use ASL (and obnoxious, too!), “It’s raining! I’ll get rained on!”

“For fuck’s sake – get in the car! You’re already soaked!” He shouts, his voice now loud enough not to get swallowed by the rain. A slice of lightning rolls ahead and it makes the decision clear for her. She may not be afraid of lightning, but it doesn’t bade well with her anxiety. No, she will not be getting fried tonight.

Rey walks over to the other side and unlatches the handle, getting in as quickly as she can.

The only sounds apart from the pitter-patter of the rain on the windshield are the drops coming off from her own body onto the leather seat.

Ben is staring ahead, watching the dark road and all that lies forward. His window is closed now, but he hasn’t started the engine yet. Maybe he’s hoping she will speak first. “I know this isn’t ideal, but thank you.” She mutters weakly, chancing a glance at him.

He smoothens his brows slightly and nods, “You’re welcome. Are you trying to get sick?”

She scoffs at his accusation, “No. Why were you at my house?”

“Mom made lasagna and asked me to bring it over.” He says, hands tightening on the steering wheel. He takes a steadying breath. “I’m leaving for New York. Day after graduation.”

_Two weeks. Great._ She affixes her eyes on the lone, dreary streetlamp across the street, “Okay. Safe travels, then. Aren’t you going to drive home?”

He nods again, and the car moves into the night, its wipers dancing wildly over the glass.

Rey can’t seem to swallow for some reasons; it must be the changing weather or something, it might actually have gotten her sick. Maybe it’s just the rain and how heavy it feels, like it’s weighing her down and she can’t make any move, she hasn’t even fastened her seat belt yet. It gives her the sensation that something’s breaking, or about to break, and she can’t find it, or know where it’s starting to hurt – she’s panicking. Like a fever, slowly spreading until your eyes blur and everything’s unbearable, and you’ll never know when you’re going to be okay again.

_Why are you in such a hurry to leave?_ She sniffs once and focuses on her breathing, _one-two-threes_ , and reaches for the car stereo. As she turns up the volume dial, Alone Together gets louder and louder from the speakers. She glares at him for a second and returns her attention to her window.

Her eyes water unknowingly; she finds out she’s crying when the tears glisten on the reflection of the glass. She quickly wipes her cheeks and hopes he hasn’t taken notice.

She will _not_ cry, damn it. She will not cry because he’s going to move away and she’ll be spending her summer for the first time alone since she was five years old. No – she’s not even going to cry over the fact that they haven’t managed to fix whatever’s wrong between them so near the end, nor the fact that she’s still finding the strength to forgive him for something she can barely remember feeling angry about, or that it resorted to him being angry at her too.

“Maybe I'll burn a little brighter tonight. Let the fire breathe me back to life.”

As they reach her house, Ben flicks the child lock on and turns to her. “Why are you crying?”

She stares back at him and furiously dries her eyes. “Why are you listening to Fall Out Boy? You _hate_ them.”

“What, you’ve taken up gatekeeping as your hobby?” He says through gritted teeth, “You’re crying because I’m listening to one of _your_ bands? How mature.”

She takes a shuddering breath and turns down the dial, when the last beats of Miss Missing You fades out. “Fuck you, Ben. After how much shit you gave me for liking these songs? You’re not allowed to like them!”

He gives out a low, frustrated laugh. “I can’t believe this – I really can’t. _Wow_. It’s a fucking band, Kenobi. Do you have to take a piss at everything I do?”

“God – do you have to be an asshole every fucking time? Look, I get why you’re mad at me, but can’t you be a decent human being for once?” She feels another set of stinging in her eyes, and as she blinks, she finds her face wet, “Fine, okay – _you_ _win_ , whatever it is, but you win. In the end, it’s always _you_.”

“Winning?” He spits out, raking his hand agitatedly through his hair. “This isn’t a competition of who hurts the other person more –”

“It sure feels that way –“

Ben groans and buries his face in his hands, “I can’t do this anymore, Rey. I just can’t. I’m fucking miserable and I hate this. I don’t know what happened, how we got to this point and I’m not sure how to fix it.” He raises his head and looks at her, lips trembling. “I’m sorry, okay? _I’m_ _sorry_. I hate this. I don’t know what to do. Can’t we just be friends again? _Please_. Why does it have to be so hard?”

Another tear runs down her cheek. _Why can’t we be friends again?_ She repeats what he asked, _does it really have to be this hard?_

But she’s cried _oceans_ for him, even then. When they were desperate kids trying to fit in and social groups eagerly pulled them from their roots and tore them apart. It cracks her into two, how they came across infinite hallways and pretended not to know each other; how it screams that they haven’t been friends for a very long time now, and last summer popped the safe bubble they’ve trapped themselves in. Reality hurts, and finding strength to accept what happened makes path for resentment to build up. She didn’t know how to deal with it any other way.

“I don’t have the answers.” Rey whispers, and she looks at him again. _This is it, do you know?_ She wants to say, to shake him and ask him if he wants to prolong this moment as much as she does, to stop time and savor it, even if it hurts. But how else could they move on from this? A cut only worsens when it isn’t given time to heal.

She reaches out and runs the pad of her thumb on his cheek. He, too, has cried tears she’ll never see, she knows now. She doesn’t discredit his pain, however different it was from hers. He leans in to her touch and closes his eyes. “We’re lost now. I’m not sure we can find the way back.”

Ben only nods and turns his face to kiss the palm of her hand. He breathes in and his face crumples, “I miss you. You’re my best girl.”

She tries to smile but she couldn’t hold it, “You’re _my_ best girl. You were my bride, remember?”

When she tilts her head forward and presses her lips on his, it doesn’t convey anything but the longing she feels for him. It’s the kind of kiss that wants to apologize and take something in return, it says they are not the same people from when they were back then. It tells him that she doesn’t know what to do and she’s still mending old wounds. He kisses her back like he can’t accept what’s happening, _desperately_ , inevitably. Forgiving doesn’t come easy, and before they forget themselves and why they care about this so much, some things have to end.

Because they _were_ friends, and in a way, it seems like they’re breaking up too.

“I have to go.” She tells him wearily as she pulls away.

He clears his throat and chokes out a broken chuckle, it’s clear he can’t believe he allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of her, as if she will use that against him. As if she _can_. “Yeah. I know.”

———

Prom had been a fever-dream of bejeweled dresses and flower-shaped fairy lights, a distraction from the real big thing: _graduation._

Rey and her friends had fun. Finn and Rose arrived at the right moment, Obi took some pictures, and they pre-gamed in the backdoor entrance of the gym.

Unsurprisingly, it was Kaydel Co Connix who won prom queen. Poe Dameron had been the crowned king. The two were actively campaigning since the start of the year.

Ben and Rey didn’t look at each other the whole night; she didn’t meet his eyes when he was on stage beside Dameron and Tai, nor when they coincidentally got out of the washroom at the same time.

They didn’t look at each other as they walked along the empty halls, and she kept her head down when he opened the door and let her in first. He didn’t murmur that she was pretty – _no_ , because she was so sure she only heard it inside her head. _It was decisively not his voice._

They didn’t look at each other when the lights dimmed and Starship played on the speakers. She did not look for him when he got lost in the crowd, and her eyes did not sting when she found him dancing with Bazine Netal until the song transitioned to a Madonna classic.

Rey said her goodbyes to Ben Solo two days before prom. They didn’t owe each other anything.

Now, as her class sits under the summer heat in the grassy quadrangle and Ben steps up the podium for his valedictory address with all his medals slung over his neck, he definitely does not look for her before he starts.

“Welcome, Governor Ackbar.” He nods his head in acknowledgement to the man behind him dressed in a pinstripe navy blue suit, “Members of the board of trustees, administrators, teachers, parents, guests, and fellow graduates. Welcome to St. Corellia’s commencement exercises of 2013.

“I am honored to be the one standing in front of you to talk about dreams and all that bullshit – but come _on,_ let’s face it. I’m far from someone you’d call ‘inspirational’; I study and I’m tall, in turn I have good grades and I play basketball. _So what?_ Look, if this is all what’s going for you in high school, you should be bummed.

“People our age, they say we have a whole life ahead of us. They tell us we should ‘strike while the iron is hot’ and take all the chances we can. But it’s _so hard_ , and we are so exhausted _all the fucking time!_ So we make mistakes, we have things that we regret and we feel like it’s the end of the fucking world when nothing goes our way. Failing an exam feels like you’re never going to be successful, and the imminent threat of death is terrifying when you haven’t even _lived_.”

He clears his throat and surveys the students in front of him, as if he’s checking if nobody has fallen asleep yet. “But we’re still here, because we are allowed to make mistakes at 18. We are allowed to get our feelings hurt, we are entitled to come out of these experiences as better people. We are not defined by the four years we spend in the enclosed corners of our classroom and it’s our nature as humans to change, to evolve, and to try our best.

“In the sum of all things, this speech wouldn’t even matter and nothing I say will ever hold you back, because this is it. The moment you start living.” Ben leans closer to the mic, and this time, their gazes do meet, like he is saying the words directly to her, like there isn’t a sea of people in between – like how it’s always been. “The world will continue spinning and begging _and doing everything_ it can until you get where you’re supposed to be. It will thrive as you will, and it will grow as you’ve grown. Life doesn’t happen in one day, and it’s okay to take a breath and figure it out.”

Then, as he blinks and utters the next sentence, the spell lifts and once more she is amongst classmates, like an asteroid lost in the anonymity of its cluster, hovering aimlessly around the Sun.

“It’s time to get your shit together – to celebrate small successes, to accept that you don’t have the capacity to change the world on a gigantic scale, nobody’s asking you to. And if you’re still unhappy, you can refer to that Han Solo quote from ‘88: ‘You may not be an astronaut like you dreamt of at age six, but at least you graduated high school!’ – I mean, that must count for something, right?” He grins, folding the paper in front of him and laying his hands flat on the glass surface. “Now, this is the part where I close my speech, but I lost a stupid bet with Hennix.”

He points to the culprit, who is seated in the front row. Hennix taps his fist on his chest a couple of times and points back at him.

“This isn’t in the script, so please forgive me –“ He takes a deep breath to prepare himself, arranges his face in a bored scowl. “ _Sometimes, you gotta work a little so you can ball a lot_.” Everyone laughs as he cringes visibly. “Let’s go, Falcons. We’re fucking out of here!”

The crowd erupts in a loud cheer as he goes down the stage and it’s not hard to forget and get lost in the excitement of it all – because they’ve spent four years in this school, and it’s finally done. They have their diplomas, and everyone’s throwing their graduation caps so high up, a tsunami of yellow tassels in the air. The junior marching band plays the school hymn, lots of trumpets and steady beats of drums. Rey and Rose hug each other, humming along with the tune like the rest of them.

Finn is running in their direction and enveloping them both in his arms, “I can’t believe it’s done! _Finally free.”_

Rose nods, her eyes flooding with happy tears. “I know! Oh my god, it’s such a relief! Although not seeing your stupid faces on a daily basis is a bummer.”

“We’re literally bunking together in freshman year!” Rey shouts over the noise, helping her friend wipe her tears without smudging her mascara. Paige, her sister, went home from college just so she could do her make up – it will be a disservice on all people involved if it gets ruined. “But I get what you mean. I do –”

“Aww, you guys!” Finn tightens his arms around the two, “I fucking love you and I’m gonna miss you both so much.”

They stay like this a minute more, until families were allowed to go down and hug their children, and Rose is swept away by her parents. Finn gives Rey a kiss on the forehead before he goes to his own grandmother. She glances down at her diploma and sighs. Once she moves, she’s going to be starting a whole new chapter in her life.

_It will thrive as you will, and it grow as you’ve grown. It doesn’t happen in one day._

“Rey!” Someone calls out from her right. She turns around and sees Han strolling in her direction with Obi beside him, proud smiles on their faces. Leia is a little further behind, her hand around her son’s arm, whispering how proud she is probably. He _is_ class valedictorian.

Rey grins, waving her hand gracelessly. Obi gives her an awkward side hug and kisses the top of her head. “Proud of you, young lady.”

She scrunches her nose at him and sticks her tongue out when Han messes with her hair. “Kid, you graduated high school! I’m officially old!”

“What do you mean? You were always old.” Ben tells him when they reach their little group. Rey tries manically to fix her braid (she got up _way too early_ to follow through a Youtube tutorial, it’s embarrassing) and frowns when it’s not making any difference.

Han guffaws and happily pats his son’s back, “I’m so glad you’re out of the house now.”

Leia pinches her husband’s arm, “Don’t say that – _Ben_ , we are sad to see you out of the house, okay? Don’t listen to your father.”

Ben rolls his eyes, “I’m not super sensitive, contrary to popular belief. I’m pretty chill.”

Rey can’t help the snort that comes out of her mouth. ‘Chill’ is not a word you associate with _him_ – he reacts five times more than what is socially justifiable. He got them kicked out of a haunted house last summer because he knocked out Pennywise, he literally waited a whole shift for her so they could speak, ate _all_ of the saltiest batch of experimental brownies she had ever made (to name a few). She cannot stress how _un-chill_ and intense he is. He’s the most consuming person she knows.

The four of them turn their eyes on her, matching curious looks on their faces. “Sorry.” She mumbles, blushing. 

Leia squeezes her arm reassuringly, “You look lovely, Rey. You and Ben should take a picture together! I forgot to take one of you two on prom.” She holds up her camera and clears the space so that Ben and Rey are next to each other, their backs to the entrance of the school’s main building. “Stand closer together, god! This isn’t a landscape photo!”

Rey wets her lips and steps closer to him. She’s burning holes in her Vans when he says, “I like your braid. Super cool.”

She smiles a little, trying hard not to show her desperation to fix the thing between them even though she can’t, “Nice speech, congratulations. You’d fit in well in New York, Mister _I study and I’m tall_.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, his dimples appearing. It makes her heart… tingle, like something splinted gets picked out. She feels all warm in her chest and it gets her toes curling.

“Yes.” She beams widely, slightly lightheaded with the rush. She thinks she might be overwhelmed with the conversation – how easy it is compared to their last one – and teasing him comes naturally that she didn’t even realize how much she craves it. “Did Miss Erso check on your little cursing spiel? I doubt she’d allow it.”

“She actually encouraged it, if you can believe that.”

“No, not really. But you said all the right things.” She murmurs, biting her lip. “Are you all set for the move?”

He nods, “Yeah, uh. Han’s gonna be on the wheel and I’ll take over alternately so the Prius is coming with me to New York. We leave at half past six tomorrow morning. It’s going to be so cramped though, can you imagine – a week of Han’s jokes in a car _that_ small?”

She cringes, “Ugh, I don’t envy you.”

“Come on, kids – look up!” His mother calls out exasperatedly, repositioning the camera. Han and Obi are on the side and talking about some game that aired last night, unaware of the increasing temper of the woman beside them.

When it flashes the next time, they are looking at each other, as if they haven’t done anything at all _but_. And when Leia huffs, Ben lifts Rey up by the waist and puts up a peace sign. She makes the silliest expression she can, throwing an arm over his shoulders to refrain from falling face first on the ground. Just to appease the woman.

“You two are the worst.” His mother says, but even she couldn’t help a grin of her own.

In the distance, Bazine Netal’s mascara is running down her face, signaling the start of her _Great Graduation Meltdown._

———

Here’s the thing with perfect people: they are eager to start with greater things, and leaving is so easy when they know they’ll have something to get back to. They don’t say good byes because doors don’t close for them, backs don’t turn and everyone in their sphere of influence are just happy that they have chosen to exist within reach. They don’t settle for crumbs or hand-me-down compliments; they deserve all the goodness that the world has to offer – after all, they are God’s favorites, life is created for them to live.

And at six o’clock the next morning, when Rey – clad in her stripes pajamas and clutching her side as she gasps for oxygen – is watching the back of Ben’s black Prius gets smaller and smaller in the distance, she can’t help but think about how it’s _so_ on brand for him to unnecessarily leave thirty minutes prior to his supposed departure, as if people across the country are waiting in line to experience the veritable substance of his pull, like they couldn’t wait to get him all to themselves.

Because even if you reduce everything to its basest, purest element, there is no doubt that Ben Solo is unfairly perfect.

And as always, it’s so typical for people like her to be left behind. She can’t blame him – nobody blames people like him; it’s glaringly obvious that she should have been here earlier.

—————

**_Spring, 2019_ **

_New York City_

Fleabag is kissing the Priest. They both stumble out of the confessional booth in a battle of tongues and teeth, their actions desperate because it could end at any given moment, the haze could lift, and Fleabag knows she’s only pushing her luck. He’s something so unattainable, something you’d give up everything for just to get a taste.

But in this apartment, Rey isn’t watching. Instead, she is looking at her handheld mirror closely as she sips her iced caramel macchiato from the Starbucks across the street, frowning at the bags under her eyes and the cracks on her lips. She has to stop sleeping so late on a work night – it doesn’t do well on her skin care routine at all. How is she only 25 years old at this point? It’s like she’s tired all the time, and her back constantly screams in pain as if she’s 52.

Her phone buzzes from the side table. She puts her drink down and glances at the screen. There’s a text message from Rose.

_I’m sleeping over at Armie’s tonight. Don’t wait up x_

She mentally cheers her friend on and replies with a _go get it sister,_ then swipes out of the messaging app.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Beeb.” Finn’s calico cat raises its head from licking its paw and regards her curiously. When it finds out she’s just being silly again, it returns back to its bathing. She rolls her eyes and hopes to god Finn is having the time of his life with his boyfriend in Guatemala if she has to endure three more days of their apathetic demon fur-ball child (their secondhand love seat was ruined from the very first day of cat-sitting and all her plants have been dug out).

Again, she looks at her mirror.

Rey isn’t the kind of girl who really cares about appearances. She had sensible shoes and sturdy trousers to go with her button-down blouses for work, and pretty much her university jumpers for all other things. She couldn’t afford to be stylish growing up, and when she finally starts to earn money enough to support herself, it’s just not worth spending it on clothes. It’s ridiculous; the trends these days were just nods to the 90’s. She had these her whole life!

She spends liberally on skin care though (some would say ‘too much’) – it’s a fucking treat to yourself, and living with Rose gives her excuses. They buy products in bulk, it’s way cheaper and it’s rational. Her job is a stress-oven, there isn’t a day she doesn’t want to cry after a meeting explaining shit to testosterone-driven, overindulged bosses. It’s a nightmare and she just wants to appear less tired than she actually is.

Her frown deepens, and the next episode plays automatically on the screen. She barely glances at the mirror in mornings because she’s always running late, but she isn’t ever conscious of how she looks (she isn’t trying to date her coworkers, they’re the worst). Once she sees her hair isn’t the monstrosity it was when she woke up, she’s ready to start her day.

It’s infuriating how much that changed. There is a stark difference in knowing someone famous without actually getting direct contact with them – sort of like “Oh, that guy? We used to go to the same Sunday service back in the day!” – and having the immediate means to communicate with them through an app on your phone. The lines in between evince personal histories suggesting the depth of the relationship, and there are pieces of each other exchanged to make a whole. Rey cannot be sure she doesn’t have a little bit of him in the way she walks.

The friend request came out of the blue and she is certain it’s a plot to get her to be so… _vain_. And she shouldn’t have read that magazine interview in the first place, because he’s all talk and no dick to back it up. He makes it seem like a fucking tragedy, or as if she were the one to break his heart.

_Isn’t it the other way around?_ The voice in her head speaks.

Rey’s brows furrow, _There isn’t any heart breaking that happened. Do you really fucking think he means all the things he said? He was always trying to make a point; he looks good on paper, he makes you feel things. You are not that naïve girl anymore. We’ve been through this. Look at you – you’re burned out and you don’t have a great personality. That interview wasn’t about you._

She puts the mirror beside her drink and grabs her phone. She opens her browser and goes to a tab she hasn’t closed yet. She’s probably read this for about a hundred times now. It isn’t healthy. It’s all his fault.

_“— I don’t think it was ever even given the chance to figure itself out, so it kind of ruined me for other relationships. I do try when things get serious and all, but honestly? How else can you find better when you’ve had the best? And when the best didn’t have the happy ending you want, it’s just ‘okay, this is all there is to it? Rather not have it, then.’”_

_There is something so anchoring to the fact that the likes of Ben Solo had gotten his heart broken. It makes such a perfect person become human, and how he paints it dictates there isn’t a villain in the story —_

With a huff, she changes apps to Instagram and types his username. Before she finishes, it’s already on the top of the suggested list as if she’s been searching his handle all the freaking time. For the record, she does _not_ visit his profile frequently; he’s just always tagged in some other actors’ posts she follows.

She scrolls through his feed, thinks about how it’s possible to resent him and envy him at the same time. Sometimes she feels like she’s eighteen again, always in the sidelines, always wondering how lucky she was that she knew him, lucky enough to know his little quirks and the things he’s scared of. Sometimes she gets caught up with the burden of his memories, about how much they’ve changed but can’t seem to divorce themselves from what they were to each other. They were kids – it’s all in the past.

And he’s not the same guy she used to know. He’s still the center of the galaxy, but there are a million other heavenly bodies surrounding _him_ now. The asteroids get pushed back, nobody finds them that interesting. They’re just big rocks – they didn’t even warrant a pull of their own. 

Rey clicks on a black and white square. Mutters to herself about how pretentious he is with the ‘aesthetic’ bullshit. It’s a picture of a large window with a tree outside, and the caption reads “so many thing i can’t believe.” It doesn’t make sense.

_How is it he’s met Sebastian Stan way before I do? He’s literally Team Iron Man._

_Holy shit, I haven’t seen this before – is that Harry Styles? Why does he have a picture with Harry Styles? What do you mean he endorses Gucci too?_

_Why is he making – ugh. He still eats these things? Doesn’t he, like, have a proper trainer now or something? Don’t those come with portioned, tasteless food?_

_Yeah, only he keeps pictures of his ex-girlfriend on his feed. ‘Old friends’ your dick. Nobody stays friends with their exes. It’s weird!_ We _didn’t even stay friends._

_Oh my god, stop. I don’t need to see him in a cowboy hat. I don’t care if it’s for a role, it’s fucking stupid. What is he trying to achieve?_

_Fuck – Daniel Radcliffe’s like a dwarf. Do normal people look like this when they stand next to him? Do_ I _?_

She looks up at the cat, “Did you know you’re Instagram famous?” Rey brings up the phone an inch from its little pink nose. It glances down at the picture, blinks uninterestedly, then turns back to her. “You have over four hundred thousand likes and you’re doing the thing with your teeth in it! It’s so dumb. Social media is a whack.”

He doesn’t have Instagram stories or shit, but he posts pretty regularly on here. It must be his fucking PR manager or someone posting for him. He should have those now, right? It’s not just his mother’s he’s getting points from. She scrolls further down.

_Okay, sure, he looks damn fine in a suit without a tie. Makes him less… stuffy. And those dimples – god, I just want a mini version of him in this picture and put it all day in my pocket so I can look at him anytime I want._

She pinches the photo to enlarge it, her cracked tempered glass making the process difficult. Accidentally, she double-taps the screen because of her moist fingers (she should really rethink about how gross it is to use the same hand on your phone and on your food without at least wiping it). A white heart pops up in the center of the square, then disappears almost immediately.

She blinks twice and her stomach drops. She stares at the date under the caption and the comments. _September 20, 2018._ The post was almost a year ago.

Rey drops her phone, sweat gathering in her palms. She looks up at the television with her mind blank – it’s just stupid ringing in her ears now, like static, and a low _no no no_ repeating on a loop. Her throat is dry and she doesn’t even know if her phone fell in the cushion or somewhere on the hardwood floor. She might not even be breathing.

Fleabag laughs nervously in her black trench coat, standing in her living room like some life-altering event is about to happen, like she’s fighting for whatever it is between her and her priest. “Priests have sex, you know. A lot of them actually do. They don't burst into flames. I Googled it.”

Hot Priest looks at her resignedly, as if he didn’t want to speak the words but it’s necessary. It’s surrendering something he doesn’t want to end. “I can't have sex with you because I'll fall in love with you. And if I fall in love with you, I won't burst into flames, but my life will be fucked.”

Rey isn’t really invested in what’s happening in the scene, she’s more preoccupied with her life flashing before her eyes, and it takes her a moment before she screams and spooks the cat from its place on the other end of the sofa. It hisses at her as she makes eye contact.

“Oh my fucking god, what the fuck did I just do?”

She hurriedly goes on all fours, checks under the couch for her phone. After a moment of fumbling, she finally manages to find it a foot by the coffee table ( _how’d it get there?_ ). There is a direct message notification from Finn, and she refuses to open it without unliking the picture first.

_There_. She thinks to herself, wiping the sweat on her forehead. _Problem solved. He’s got over six million followers, I doubt he’ll even see I liked his post. I’m sure it gets liked a hundred times a minute._

The show on the television transitions onto the last episode, the post-coital bliss of the characters amidst their pillow talk, then the black and white title card reading _The Wedding_ flashes on the screen. Rey sighs and sits back down the couch, pats the head of the cat and settles with her coffee in hand. She clutches her phone and taps on the paper airplane icon with a _1_ at the corner of the screen.

Finn’s little face shows up, a dotted blue on his panel. She clicks the message open.

It says: _what the fuck is this?? reply asap or my bf’s gonna send it to him he told me so!!!_

****

Then it accompanies a screenshot of her Instagram activity, encircled, with angry red arrows drawn: **_rey.kenobi_** _liked **bensolo** ’s post. 2m_

She screams once more, and Beebee the cat, fed up, saunters over to her and bonks her nose with its paw for four times. 

This time, she’s the one who hisses. “I am having a crisis!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some visuals/references - there are Spotify links, so if you’re listening to songs/somewhere out/about to sleep, I should warn you that by clicking, they’ll automatically play the songs I think?
> 
> 💽 The [Billy Joel](https://open.spotify.com/album/1Mhn9VosyjtWn4dMPFlna6?si=_x0qGA_ZQge1i4oh2DsL7A) album; Han picked the music. 
> 
> 💽 In [Save Rock and Roll](https://open.spotify.com/album/5jKMfS57mHTHzlSFGfPFxU?si=YAPk0YfFQceBQdkT50M47Q), Alone Together is track 3 while Miss Missing You is track 7. Approximately 18 mins car ride. Ben took the long way home, for obvious reasons. (Also, it’s the FOB comeback album in 2013 after the hiatus; didn’t save rock and roll literally but it did get me through some tough times in 2013-2014)
> 
> 💿 I was planning to get them to listen to Pretty. Odd. by P!AtD in the car scene (esp. Northern Downpour + the transition to When the Day Met the Night) but I want to somehow reference chapter 1’s From Under the Cork Tree album. [Miss Missing You](https://open.spotify.com/track/4pXqUELqAFyjlU2vx3BHRR?si=kTOgnnwpRY-vnvV3Thxk6Q) is the Reylo emo song equivalent of the aftermath of the TLJ throne room ‘I want you to join me’ scene.
> 
> 💿 The [Starship](https://open.spotify.com/track/2vEQ9zBiwbAVXzS2SOxodY?si=vL5Of6DJSUSiC3gidITFAA) song and the [Madonna](https://open.spotify.com/track/6B4oVElDIKRNcNUary0WG7?si=nQtj0KHCSqOX073F-pWKBA) slow-dance classic (which should have won her that 1986 Grammy. But Whitney Houston’s song is okay too. I just can’t believe they pitted those 2 great artists in one category together, no? They both should have won.)
> 
> 📽 “Sometimes, you gotta work a little so you can ball a lot.” — Tom Haverford, Parks and Recreation S05E06: Ben’s Parents 👀
> 
> 📸 [Anfisa](https://www.instagram.com/p/B8VuHgCoZNb/?igshid=1x13awe3g4tdn), or angry cat no banana, is Beebee. 
> 
> 📸 The [pic](https://twitter.com/adriverteam/status/1273316220373282816?s=21) Rey liked. You decide if it’s a one-pic post or a two-pic post. He’s perfect either way. We all want a small Ben Solo we can put in our pockets to look at day-night.
> 
> 💿 The “so many thing i can’t believe” caption is a reference to The Night Game’s [Coffee and Cigarettes](https://open.spotify.com/track/6Dt6bZ7QoJAQWmCpZZ1GTb?si=c1ZnNeDpQxeoHdlYNHOw5g); also Rey’s sensible shoes is a line from this song.
> 
> If you’ve managed to get here, please pass my gratitude to the [tumblr](https://reylofanfictionclub.tumblr.com/post/621539271184171008/put-down-whatever-the-fuck-youre-doing-and-read-i) who recommended this story - I don’t actually know how tumblr works (I tried logging on after 5-ish years, I forgot my fucking username and the old email I used, I’m so dumb) but thank you and I love you.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented, kudos-ed, bookmarked, opened this word vomit. You’re all making a 20-something woman cry (in a cool way? God, I hope.)
> 
> I’m sorry I’ve been so lazy - I only gave this chapter a once over (I use my phone and stuff, kind of hard to catch errors). If there are mistakes, please let me know, I’ll try to edit them asap. 
> 
> I also feel like I should say that Rey’s a little insufferable but we’ll see her grow. She’s angrier in her internal monologue as an 18 year-old, everyone is.
> 
> As always, stay safe!


	3. Stars, part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said _bad timings_ , I really mean **_bad timings_**
> 
> CW: someone gets together with other people. Sort of underage drinking (not heavily, just recreational). Long chapter. Lots of _italics_.

**Summer, 2013**

_Los Angeles_

Rey’s birthday befalls on a particularly unbearable day. The summer has reached its peak, the grass in the park in front of their studio apartment had patches that are this ugly shade of lifeless yellow. She often wonders how such a color describing the brightness of a flame can get so boring, leads her to believe there’s always both ends of a spectrum.

The apartment they’ve found is small, situated on the fourth floor of the complex. The stairs are those steep types that you’ll get out of breath after 10 steps up, and the sunlight streams through their thin white curtains in the morning like a warm, gentle slap to the face. There’s this peeling beige paint all over the walls that has a bright pink layer underneath. The only furniture they have were the hand-me-down bed frames from the previous tenants, two twin mattresses they bought off Craigslist, and a shoe rack that needs to be super glued at the joints so it won’t wobble.

They didn’t even have a desk, and their clothes were placed in those clear plastic boxes from Ikea that are stackable so it saves space. The shower is either too-hot or too-cold, which means you’ll either freeze to death or burn your skin off. The only source of light at night are the street lamps outside and the scattered glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that Finn had gifted them as a housewarming (there’s only these two warm white bulbs that were too bright; no lamps or anything – they aren’t millionaires yet).

“It’s perfect.” Rey says, once she and Rose had settled in that very first night. “I just think – _sometimes_ , things really work out in a way you least expect it.”

Rose turns to her from the bed a couple of feet away, the rustle of her blanket the only sound in the semi-lit darkness. “You know when you’re sitting in _that_ spot back home overlooking the bridge, and there’s this self-awareness that you’re gazing at something that merges the Bay and the Pacific Ocean, and like – _the Pacific Ocean? You can see that in Asia, right?_

“You’ll feel how tiny, how insignificant you are compared to the rest of the universe, but you still… _god_ , you’re here, you exist! You’re anchored to the trees and the earth, to the waves that have crashed in all these different places you haven’t even heard about yet, and you feel this interconnectedness with all of them, like you belong somehow – _this_ is how it feels.”

Rey nods and smiles to herself, “Right place, right time.”

She has only been living in this place for a couple of weeks, but luck finds her with a part-time job at a coffee shop across campus. Admittedly, she often thinks about how lonely Obi must feel, all alone in that old house, but reckons it’s fine because he’s rid of a teenage granddaughter who’s only ever gave him headaches growing up. He did get teary-eyed when he was helping her load her bags into Rose’s pick-up; it was the first time her grandfather showed vulnerability, she didn’t even see him cry when her mother died - it makes her all happy and sad at the same time, finding this out. She never knew she mattered to him that much.

Funnily enough, the first instance she went out for coffee in the very same shop, a number was written on the sleeve of her cup. The barista, named James (would rather be called _Santiago_ because he was raised by his Filipino grandmother, but spells his name in the English equivalent so it’s more ‘coffee shop friendly’), gets more than he bargained for when instead of a date, he gets a co-worker. Rose cannot believe her hustle.

And on her birthday, she gets this square waffle with an exaggerated amount of whipped cream and a small candle when he sees his Facebook notification. He is all over the place, getting all the right ingredients (or whatever’s available) to make it happen. They aren’t sure if it’s edible though, but for what it’s worth, he did try his best, and it made her day a little less lonely.

After much probing, she agrees to stay after their shift.

—————

**Winter, 2014**

_San Francisco_

The next time Rey sees Ben Solo after graduation is after five straight months of all-nighters, four casual flings that left her a little hollow, three awful haircuts, two awkward break ups, and over one year later. But hey, who’s counting?

She watches him stand next to his mother – the maroon scarf draped over his neck is the only touch of color on his wrinkle-free, black-on-black turtleneck-suit combo ( _when did he get so goth?_ ) – notices him switch off his scowl and on with the blindingly charming smile. Finds it absurd how much taller he is since the last time she saw him, how, even with the weight of his attire, stupidly straight his back is (she consciously straightens her own, always taking cues from him when it comes to social etiquettes). He doesn’t even have a nice _strut_ , why do people still look at him as he goes around greeting everybody else?

This gives her an eerie sense of _déjà vu._ Hilariously so.

But it’s _chill_ , because now, she isn’t waitressing. She’s actually a guest, someone wearing an honest-to-god, borderline formal-but-not-so dress (she can’t recall the last time she wore one, _probably in prom?_ ) that she borrowed from her dear friend, Rose –

_“I need to borrow a dress-_ dress _.”_

_“What for?” She grins._

_Rey bites her lip, squinting at the bottom of the_ Evite _– italicized and in gold text, there it says:_ Cocktail Attire _, “Just… something. Tasteful. Possibly one that would make me want to stab myself with a butter knife, or something you’d wear when you meet your boyfriend’s parents.”_

_“What –!”_

_“Or not?”_

_“- Do you have a new boyfriend?! You never tell me about these things anymore! Rey, I’m actually hurt!”_

_“No – wrong analogy! Don’t be stupid, it’s for a catered dinner party. Nothing like that, geez!”_

_In which the reply was (after calming down and a few more denials from her end): “Say no more, fam.”_

Understandably, what’s almost ankle-length for her friend falls just below her knee. It fits well, if she says so herself. She actually looks decent – regardless of the odd haircut and the old ballet flats she got for a presentation in her literature class. Not a bad look at all – and she’s not even tempted to use the butter knife. _At least, not yet._

Maz had not let her out of her sight since she got in the venue half an hour ago. The older woman can’t help gushing, tells her how much she’s missed her, how fewer the youths are in the diner now that “there’s only an old hag serving ‘em.”

“You aren’t old.” She squeezes Maz’s hand. “You’re very… spunky.”

“Yeah, tell that to _old_ Han, always complaining – tells me it’s not the same without you!”

Rey rolls her eyes, “He’s worse as he ages.”

“That he is,” Maz smiles, “I can’t believe you’ve only gone home once since you started college! Didn’t you miss me?”

She groans, “Obi visited me last Christmas, I’ve called you about this. Plus, I’ve found a job at a shop over the summer – you’ll _love_ it, Maz. Actual vintage cars. A fucking 1966 Cadillac DeVille _._ I’ve never swooned more.”

When the woman gets called back to the kitchens for an emergency, Rey is left alone in a room full of people she doesn’t know, with nothing to do but gawk at _him_ and drink her non-alcoholic, pretentious craft beer. Even Han has managed to get himself preoccupied with poor Uncle Lando in the corner, both of whom are engaged in a conversation that gets them standing theatrically and gesturing all over the place. God knows where Grandpa Obi is; he probably already walked home.

Ben tilts his head as he focuses on a woman who’s uncharacteristically familiar – someone she may have seen in the news last week or in a magazine a month ago – as if he’ll remember what she’s talking about later on _(he probably will, but that’s not the point!)_. He nods along at the right moments, chuckles at the lame joke, touches her arm courteously before he moves over to the next person.

Rey drowns her glass and snatches another one from a passing waiter.

It’s so stupid – why did she even RSVP into this? She could have spent her first day back hanging out with Finn and Rose, watching movies and lurking on Omegle like before, or sleeping the rest of the night away (the eight-hour bus ride isn’t exactly recommended unless you’re under budget like her). Why is she so excited to attend? What has gotten into her?

She’s not even required to come, there’s no political advancement for Leia when she attends – and sure, she may have missed her and Han and – _stop that train of thought, it’s_ _only Han and Leia I missed, not even Uncle Luke! –_ but that doesn’t mean that she had to see them at the worst possible time, busy as they are with entertaining guests in their _own_ party. She could have visited them the next day, when there’s more to the encounter than a strained smile and a “nice of you to make it!”

And in the off chance that she – _oh god –_ wants to see Ben again (and maybe she thought about it constantly after receiving the E-vite a few weeks ago), what the hell does she expect to come out of this? Pleasant conversation? Awkward catch-ups on each other’s lives? Replays of inside jokes? This isn’t the fucking cinematic masterpiece that is When Harry Met Sally _;_ they aren’t two semi-friends reuniting unexpectedly after a fun previous encounter. It’s not a movie.

Even when their gazes meet across the room and time seems to slow, it’s not a movie.

Despite the fact that his eyes light up a fraction of a second when he sees her, and he does this familiar quirk on his lips that almost shows his right dimple but not quite, and it makes her feel things in her stomach – not butterflies, _lord knows it’s not_ , but a sinking sensation that gets her speechless with her palms sweating: not a movie.

Not even when he starts to come over where she is and everything and everyone blurs in the background, with every step he’s taken singing the rhythm of her pulse and it’s all she can hear – still not a movie.

It’s real life. And if this were a movie, they’ll kiss in the climax of it. They would have gotten together _way_ earlier. One final cheesy line, the director yells cut, curtains close, and a standing ovation – none of these ever happened because _this isn’t a movie._ Nobody wants to see a tragic story.

Ben is stopped by a balding guy in a very festive tie, hand on his arm as he drifts his attention away from Rey (hesitantly, if she’s reading it correctly, like she’ll instantly disappear, but hopefully _not_ ). The moment ends, everything speeds up again, and the deafening static in her ears clears out. Like drowning and swimming up the surface – there’s this rush of air as it fills out your lungs, and suddenly, all seems to be louder than usual.

She turns back to the dumb mini quiches and stuffs herself. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas transitions seamlessly to I’ll Be Home for Christmas; dinner is yet to be served, and she’s not waiting until Silver Bells to eat. She’s familiar with this playlist – they only ever let out the good stuff after at least two rounds.

“Rey?” A voice whispers from her right.

Her eyes widen, and with a mouth full of finger foods, she turns to the speaker.

Dressed in a cashmere gray sweater, with a cute enamel snowman pinned to the tie peaking out from the V neckline, is one of the most beautiful man she has ever seen. He is smiling sheepishly, his brown eyes clear and amused under the warm light; strong jaw game, lips annoyingly pink. He’s tall, but his posture isn’t imposing – he doesn’t look like a certain _someone_ who would get in the room and seemingly induce an almost psychological burst of claustrophobia from her.

And he vaguely resembles the pictures she’s seen of a young Lando Calrissian.

“Oh my god, _Chance?_ ” Rey lets out a particularly embarrassing, girlish squeak – quiches un-swallowed so it sounds more like _ohmahgahchah?! –_ winding both arms around his neck. He smells very clean, his cologne a little _woodsy_ but in a good way. “How have you gotten this tall? The last time I saw you, we’re the same height!”

Lando Calrissian, Jr., lovingly called “Chance” by everyone, is the only son of Lando and his ex-wife, Tendra. He’s inoffensively funny, can ease off a terrifyingly awkward conversation without much effort. He used to be Ben’s best friend – they were inseparable, more so than him and Rey, because they actually hung out in school – but he had moved to live with his mother in Boston after the divorce ten years ago. The two of them only get to play together through Ben when they were kids, but they’ve managed to be good friends along the way.

Rey didn’t know he’s in town – it’s a pleasant surprise.

Chance hugs her back, even lifts her a few inches off the ground. “It’s so good to see you! God, how long’s it been? I knew it was you – who else would stand in the corner eating finger foods rather than talk their way into a paid internship for one of these people?”

She pulls away, playfully tapping him on the shoulder. “You haven’t changed at all, Mister Harvard Hottie. Stop posting unsolicited movie reviews on Facebook. We don’t need a dissertation about Gone Girl and white feminism. It’s a great movie – and use Letterboxd!”

He does a charming roll of his eyes, tapping her back on her arm. “We actually _do –_ and you have spinach between your teeth.”

“What!” She immediately covers her mouth and uses her tongue to pick at them. “Is it gone –” Teeth bared, she grins as her old friend gives a thumbs up in approval.

“We _need_ to have a big sit-down-catch-up at Maz’s – I bet she still does the blueberry thing with the banana –”

“Stop – it’s just a smoothie, it’s not a _thing_.”

“Ha – you’re funny; if it’s a smoothie, why does it tastes like ice cream?”

“For someone smart enough to get into Harvard, you’re terribly moronic.” She shrugs at his frown, “Are you gonna stay here for long?”

“Well, no. I guess I’m staying until the day after the new year.” Chance gives her another grin, “How about you though? Oh, you seen Solo? Fancy-ass motherfucker, too busy for us _nobodies_. He still hasn’t cut his hair.”

Rey chuckles, her eyes sweeping over the room to where Ben is still talking to the guy, but he seems to be less polite now – brows furrowed, mouth downturned. Maybe the man said something unholy about the Flint water crisis or Stevie Nicks, and he truly is offended by the lack of tack. “And he wonders why he’s always the wife when we’re playing house.”

“Ugh, right?” He makes a face, then calls out: “Ben!”

“Wait –”

Ben perks up as if he’s not expecting his name to be called. He sends a smile that seems glued on his face all night, quietly excusing himself. The man hands him a business card, which he pockets before walking over to where they are. Rey tries to make herself smaller, thinks about dashing to the washroom so she can get out of this mini-reunion bullshit.

“Chance – so great to see you again!” Ben claps Chance’s hand and does a one-armed, frat boy hug. She cringes internally; _is this all they’ve learned from those expensive Ivy League universities? This is so humiliating._

“How are you – how’s Jannah?” Ben says, hand still on his friend’s elbow like he’s just another person he has to impress.

Chance snorts, slapping the hand away. “You’ve seen my sister last week, don’t ask me. How are _you_? And look – our Rey, actually wearing a dress this time!”

“It has pockets, Chance.” She crosses her arms.

Ben makes a show of turning his head, exasperated like he doesn’t want to do it; she’s now tempted to use the butter knife – but not on _herself_. Alas, she’s reminded yet again why attending this party isn’t one of her smartest decisions made. “Hey, Rey.”

“Hey yourself.” _What!? ‘Hey yourself’? Gah – yuck. Damn it, stop trying to act cool – you have nothing to prove._

“You look nice.” He gives her a tight-lipped grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Been too long, right?”

“It’s been too long that I looked this nice, or it’s been too long since we last saw each other?” She often wonder why her first instinct when it comes to him is defending herself. He’s not attacking her – he’s not gonna bite.

“Just _generally_.”

She makes a face, “And what the fuck does that mean?”

Chance claps his hands together, “ _Well_ – seems like you two have a lot of catching up to do. Let’s all get breakfast at Maz’s tomorrow, okay? Meet me there at nine.” He hugs them both with one arm each and goes to where his father sits.

Rey watches his back, a soft sigh coming out of her. He _did_ look handsome, even before, but he’s _just more_ – if she have to give a food analogy, Chance is like Leia’s lasagna; complete with four kinds of cheese, a side serving of freshly-baked garlic bread, and a dash of parsley on top for aesthetics. First bite sends her oddly reminiscent of the happy memories from her childhood, its flavor hitting every points off her palate. You’d get full, but you won’t get sick of eating it. Very pleasing to look at – probably the main event of a seven-course meal.

She’ll devour it when offered, look forward to it when she knows it’s on the menu, lick the plate clean, but it’s not something she’s greedy for.

Ben nudges her side with his elbow, “What, no attractive guy in LA? You basically have heart eyes.”

She licks her lips, turning to him. He is, like her, observing their friend blend in with the crowd, his face unreadable. She has long given up on trying to decipher his thoughts because he is someone who eventually says what he’s thinking about. He does let his emotions get the best of him at times, and she wonders if he has managed to get a hold of it since. “Didn’t expect him to look that way – I mean, _look_ at him, he’s like a fucking feminist Disney prince.”

“Hmm, never knew that was your type,” He nods to himself, “so –”

_Type?_ “So.”

“Have you eaten dinner yet?”

She groans, “Don’t remind me – this is a terrible party. There aren’t enough quiches or fried calamari to satiate my hunger.”

He poorly conceals a laugh and curiously regards her. “You wanna ditch this? I’ve finally mastered the art of grilled cheese sandwiches for exhausted college students.”

_Why is he being so friendly? This is so out of character for him._ She hesitates, glancing back at the whole shindig. He usually sees the party through, and she wouldn’t know if there’ll be implications when they do leave early. People might talk, and this is one of the things Rey has ever fault herself for caring about.

_But he was like this,_ _before._ She does, admittedly, often forget how they were really good friends, how good a conversationalist he is, how much she really wants to be around him. If she dwells on it hard enough, there are parts of her she only ever gets to see whenever they’re together – her patience, for one, is tested most of the time, and her moral compass gets unintentionally askew. She doesn’t have a cap on her emotions, on whatever she wants to keep to herself, and it makes her so furious how these all come out unbidden.

And she is reminded about something Rose had said, way back when they just moved into their small, unfurnished apartment: there’s this interconnectedness, the feeling of belonging to something (or to someone, to a _moment_ ), of the world seeming to narrow to this little piece of ground they’re standing on – however limitless it is. Being alive – she only ever felt this when she’s with him.

“Sure.” Rey eyes him steadily. _Sure – wherever the hell you want._

Ben finally smiles the endearing way he does: dimples all out, trying to hide his lower teeth, nose slightly crunched. She can’t help but bask in it because he’s right – it’s been too long. “I’ll text Han along the way. Did you bring a coat?”

She shakes her head as they exit the venue, wrapping both arms around herself. The cold air hits her face, goosebumps rising, but it feels nice. It’s really sunny in Los Angeles, even in the peak of winter, and having grown up experiencing strong winds makes her body sweat increasingly in such humid weather. She would later revel in this when she gets back after the holidays; for now, though – she’s _freezing._

He glances at her, fingers fiddling with his phone as he sends the message. “You know it’s winter, right? It’s December. Almost Christmas.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me again.” She mutters, glaring at his unburdened form. “Aren’t you gonna offer your fancy blazer?”

They continue walking to the familiar path down the road – the clubhouse where the party’s held is ten minutes away from Han and Leia’s. She figures he didn’t even have to bring his car, thinks about how much carbon dioxide it emits for a journey so short. He smirks obnoxiously, putting his hands in his pockets and snuggling further to the warmth, “Oh boy, that’s not going to happen –”

“Dick –”

“— but you can have my scarf.” He pauses, unfolds the maroon pashmina, and winds it around her neck. “You’re the present under the tree.” They both look up, to a high, lit up oak tree they used to climb when they were kids.

She stomps on his unreasonably expensive, shiny leather shoes. He lets out a dignified yelp. “I’m glad my slow descent to hypothermia is fun for you.”

“You brought this upon yourself, Rey, so yes, it’s a little fun for me.” He admits as they carry on. “Anyway, I won’t let you die. Mom would have my head.”

“Ah, yes. Leia, ever my savior.” She smiles to herself, arranging the scarf to cover her arms and shoulders. “So… how’s New York? Is it as magical as the movies make it seem?”

He huffs, “How do I explain it? Yeah, I guess; in many ways – it’s quite progressive. They really engage with you and _not_ care about you at all. Everyone minds their own business, which is nice, and a lot of people can get away with anything as long as they know how to talk.”

“And the coffee shops?”

“Starbucks at every block. It’s ridiculous.”

“Wouldn’t expect less.”

“But it’s okay. It appeals to my nocturnal self. Sometimes, I’d go out in my pajamas at two in the morning to get a Gatorade from the 711 down the street, and no one bats an eye.” He whines, as if remembering something dreadful, “And Dameron is the _worst_ roommate in the history of all roommates. He never flushes the toilet and he’s just so mean when he’s drunk! He tells me I breathe too loud.”

Rey sniggers, “That’s how you are when we used to pull all nighters playing Sims when we were ten!”

“But we were _ten –_ he’s a semi-functioning adult.” Ben mutters, kicks a pebble petulantly. “He’d mope a lot – you’d never expect it on someone who prides himself with being the prom king.”

She lowers her voice, “Never meet your heroes, kid.”

“Shut up.” 

They reach the gates of his residence. Uncle Luke is at the porch, sitting on the steps like a weirdo, drinking champagne from a Frozen mug. “Youths.”

“Living the chaotic life as always.” Rey greets, pats him on his head. “Your nephew promised me grilled cheese sandwiches and roommate horror stories, wanna join?”

“Nope.” He said, popping the ‘p’ and refilling his mug. “Have fun.”

Ben snorts, gets inside, and hangs his coat. She hands him his scarf, “Thanks.”

“Oh – I almost forgot.” His eyes glint excitedly, raising his index finger. “I got you something. Wait here, I’ll go get it.”

“Something? _What?_ ” She hisses at his back, watches him ascend the second floor hurriedly. “Is it a gift? Did you get me a gift? We didn’t talk about gifts! I wasn’t aware!” _We didn’t talk at all – why are you getting me gifts!?_

“No – it’s just something – don’t worry about it!” He calls from upstairs, head peeking out from above the railings, “It’s fine! Wait there!”

She frowns and walks to the hall that leads to the living area. The swell of panic about not having returned a present gnaws at her, but she tries not to let it bother her too much. Christmas is three days away, she can always bike to the local bookstore and buy him some new book. She has time, and she has been conditioning herself that it’s okay to receive gifts as it is – she doesn’t have to equate giving birthday presents immediately the day after her own birthday.

Rey wanders to a partially lit hallway – the wall of pictures is a sight to behold, hundreds of memories of laughter and accomplishments captured in perfect frames. Leia’s first day as city manager; Han beside his first car, a box-type monstrosity from the 70’s; the two of them dancing on their wedding night, and again on one of the Christmas parties; Luke, meditating in the roof; Han, dressed up as a hotdog, with Ben in a ketchup sachet costume on Halloween 2001; Ben on stage, age eight, playing the piano; Ben, age eleven, spelling bee champion (his first one); Ben, age fifteen, _Most Valuable Player_ ; Ben, age sixteen, holding his own Model UN; Rey and Leia, in the kitchen baking, neon green icing on their cheeks.

It startles a chuckle out of her – she remembers this day. They were trying to stack the cakes on top of each other for Luke’s birthday dinner, but it fell at the last minute. Han had managed to catch their smiling faces on camera. Luke _loved_ the cake.

She moves to the next one: Rey and Ben, on graduation last year, beside the picture of him delivering his valedictory address. The image is encased in this plain white frame with faint wooden grains. They were making faces at the camera, his hand around her waist, lifting her up a little, her own around his shoulders for support. This is the last time she’s seen him before tonight – it’s overwhelming to know they’ve managed to get this perfect moment despite their unfriendliness, their internal conflicts. It feels like they have overcome a hurdle in their relationship, and started anew with acceptance of their shared history.

The time apart seems to have done its job. She’s apathetic about way they hurt each other, and it’s all in the past, so there’s really no point dwelling besides coming to terms with it. Nothing will change – it’s not like they can go back and rethink the choices they’ve made.

_Why do I look like his_ – Rey swivels to face the other end of the hall, where Ben’s footsteps echo against the walls. He is holding something behind his back, and she’s having a hard time swallowing as he nears her in his stupid black turtleneck and his annoyingly well-fitted slacks. _Why does he look so good under poor lighting? Did nothing ever change?_

He beams when he sees what she’s viewing. “Oh – that’s a new one.”

“We made it to the hall.” She tries to peer around him, but he angles his back away. “What have you got there, Solo?”

He rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Stop being so _you_. I have to give context first.”

“What? Context? Since when did you ever give context? You’re a person who does things _without_.” She squints her eyes at him backing away from her as she advances. He simpers, pleased with himself. “Okay – calm down, Rey. It’s just a _thing_. You don’t have to make a big deal of it.”

She finally corners him to a wall, his body flat on it and his silly dimples coming out of his apparent mirth as he looks down at her. They were extremely close, and in retrospect, the six inches of space between their faces is still so very far. How is that even possible? Why is it so hard to cross such short distance?

Her gaze drifts to his lips, her chest fills with warmth all of a sudden – with affection for being near him again. She misses this; she missed being pulled to his gravity, how grounded it makes her feel, how at one point in time, this is something she is used to. It’s so easy to get lost, and so easy to hate it – because she gets stuck, like she did a couple of years ago, only to go back to where she started, asking: _can you yearn for the way a person stares?_

When his amusement gets lost in the overture of the instance and his pupils dilate a little, she steps back to put a breathing room – else, she might not know what possesses her to do what she does next. “Fine, I’m not gonna. But you delaying it kind of makes me nervous.”

He clears his throat. And in her anticipation, his cheeks flush the loveliest shade of pink.

“I – whatever, okay.” He hands her a small square wrapped in brown kraft paper, not more than an inch thick and without any card. She weighs it in her palms – it’s light, doesn’t seem to have anything in it; if it weren’t for his behavior, she’d think he’s messing with her.

Her thumb picks at an opening, trying to cleanly tear the tape up. She hands him the wrapper and holds the present in the light. There are two albums, one is deep orange – James Bay’s Let It Go – and the other is Hozier’s eccentric, self-titled album.

These mean nothing to her, to be honest. They aren’t the artists she usually listens to, although Santiago from the coffee shop did expand her range. She actually achieved a run through of One Direction’s Midnight Memories without gagging (it’s mostly good, which was surprising, and a secret she will take to her grave).

“Why?” She glances at the art on both covers, then up at him. “British rock, really, Ben? You know Too Weird to Live is still on the stands, right?”

“See – this is why I said I’ll give you context.” He licks his lips, “So – early last month, there’s this show I went to, with my girlfriend –”

_Girlfriend?_

“Girlfriend?” She can’t help blurting out, the word making everything else unfathomable. _Ben has a girlfriend. He has a girlfriend. He does relationships. Committed. To someone – else._

He looks at her quizzically, “You’re being weird.”

_How long? What – why didn’t I know this?_ “No! Go on –“ _shit, shit, shit._ “Continue, please.” Her voice rises up an octave, _shit._

Rey have had two boyfriends over the course of 18 months (or just people she tolerates enough to go on multiple dates with and never call back, meeting in the library thereafter as she explains how she got caught up with schoolwork, that she didn’t really have time to reply), and they weren’t serious because she wants to focus more on her studies. It’s not like there’s this nagging feeling that she holds herself back because there’s _someone_ she’s waiting for. Not like she gives half-hearted attempts to engage in whatever conversation she had over coffees that doesn’t really connect with her – not like it was with Ben.

She wants to say that she’s given up hope on this terrible crush from years ago – and if there were a time when the idea of _them_ is feasible, that had long since passed.

Also: it’s not really possible for him to fall in love with her. Sure, he treasures her as a friend, he _did_ ask her to prom after all, and there were loads of mixed signals she didn’t unpack with the fear of assuming wrongly. They kissed that one rainy night, and they cried real tears to mourn a friendship falling apart – but if he likes her, he’ll make a move, right?

_Of course he will. If he likes someone, he’ll ask her to be his girlfriend. He never asked you._

She bites her bottom lip as he regards her slowly, then shrugs and continues, “Anyway, so my girlfriend likes Hozier – and I kind of thought, ‘was it a deal breaker?’, but then, we saw him live and the stage presence appealed to me. Also – James Bay? Who knew I’d like anthemic rock songs?”

They walk away from the hall and into the kitchen. He sets up the bread and the cheeses with the grace of a celebrity chef, takes out the butter, the pan from the cupboard, and offers her orange juice from the fridge. She takes a glass and sits at a bar stool, watching him do the work quietly.

Her stomach flutters in that weird way again, but in this second, it’s more in dejection than of thrill. She tries to keep her face expressionless, tries not to contribute to the story because then she might do something as stupid as cry when she speaks. _He has a girlfriend. They go to concerts together. She makes him listen to songs he wouldn’t normally listen to and gets him to like them. He smiles when he talks about her, he’s so excited. Fuck._

“— so yeah, we did go to the concert, and she said, ‘hey, your friend might like this!’ and initially, I was not quite sure because you _hate_ my music taste –”

“I don’t hate it.” _Does she know about me?_

“What?” His hand stills, butter sizzling on the pan.

She lifts her eyes to meet his, “I don’t hate your taste in music. I listen to your pretentious playlist all the time.”

“Oh.” He goes back to the task, and for a while they’re just lost in their own thoughts. “I wish you’ve said that to me before.”

“Do you really need verbal validations from me?” She laughs self-deprecatingly, swirling the drink in her glass just so she appears unbothered. “It’s just me, Ben. Does it really matter now?”

“Of course it does.” He flips the bread, golden brown side up. “I care about what you think, you know that.”

She shrugs, “Well, there you go. I listen to your playlist.” _Would anything change if you knew this way back?_

“Yeah.” It feels like he’s answering her unspoken question all the same. “Okay.”

He puts the sandwich on a plate and slides it over to her. She takes a bite, the crunch resounding satisfactorily through the silence. Indeed, there’s something to be had with the sandwich – it’s the perfect amount of mozzarella, cream cheese, and red cheddar slices cooped between nicely buttered white bread. Maybe Rey wants to cry while eating, totally unrelated to her inner turmoil, not at all concerning the boy standing in front of her. _It’s just a really good sandwich. Really worth crying over._

But she holds her tears and focuses on chewing. He might think she’s crying over him, and that cannot happen at all cost – _because it’s not true_. “Your girlfriend likes folk rock, huh?”

Ben exhales and chuckles, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Yes, drives me nuts – if I have to hear Riptide one more fucking time, I’ll lose my shit.” He turns off the stove and wraps the sandwich in a napkin, sitting beside her. “But it’s mostly nice. She keeps me connected, whenever it feels like I get in my own head too much. Gets me to try all these new things.”

“Must be fun for you.”

“I guess? It’s still pretty new – we met at the start of the semester, and there isn’t really any pressure to take things fast. We’ve agreed to live in the moment and see where things go, and that if it doesn’t really work out then it doesn’t – but so far it’s good.” He takes a big bite, “She’ll fly before the new year, and I’d love for you to meet.”

She snorts to herself, already making plans to spend the occasion elsewhere. “I didn’t anticipate the day that Ben Solo, the boy who likes to dip Doritos in milk like a fucking idiot, would introduce his girlfriend to me. Quite cathartic.”

“It is, right? Cathartic, I mean.”

“Yes. Who would have thought?” She puts the rest of the sandwich in her mouth, chewing it slowly so she doesn’t have to speak.

“And you? Is there anyone special?”

_I suppose that is the question, isn’t it?_ She shakes her head, “Went on a few dates with different people, ghosted them like you did to me.” She nudges his side good-naturedly. “Nothing as serious as going to concerts together. To be fair, I wouldn’t bring them home to meet Obi. It’s been really busy, and I’m trying to get as much credits as I can so I don’t have to do the whole four years.”

“You can enjoy yourself, you know. It doesn’t have to be all about the hustle.”

“I do enjoy myself.” _Just because I’m not in a relationship doesn’t immediately imply that I’m lonely. “_ Not because I don’t sleep around as much doesn’t mean that I’m not having fun. _”_

He holds up both palms in defense, “I didn’t say anything about that. I’m all for you opening up your options and doing things at the right time.”

“Nice save, dickhead.” She threw the crust he didn’t eat at his face. He’s not too good for crust, after all.

———

“Taylor Swift’s 1989?”

“God, I have to say – top tier.”

_“What?”_

“I said what I said, Rey.”

“What! Out of all the 4 albums, you’re saying Taylor Swift’s 1989 is top tier.” Rey groans into her palm, sitting back on her folding chair and wrapping the knitted throw around herself. The stars came out tonight, and in this part of town, they’re the safe blanket, a sea of life in darkness. She often wonders about the vastness of the known universe, how infinite one could be to hold these many incandescent bodies, how some of it are just lights traveling into existence ( _does these stars even know we’re here?_ _Aren’t there scientific journals that say otherwise?_ ).

There’s this fun fact she’s read on a magazine as she sat, bored, in the dead of the coffee shop lull: Sirius – the star, not the Harry Potter character – is 8.6 lightyears away, and is one of the nearest stars to Earth. One lightyear is approximately 6 trillion miles, which equates to the distance of 51.6 trillion miles in between. It takes 8.6 years for Sirius’ light to travel _that_ far, with that many zeroes behind the numbers, only for it to be seen in the very early hours of dawn, when no one’s awake.

So, if she were to stand on one of those tiny glowing dots – apart from being burned alive by the sheer energy it radiates – will she ever witness the peace of this moment? Because light travels for years and years, how old would they be when this is written along with all the other moments unseen?

It makes her head hurt.

“I have varying degrees of hesitation about Taylor Swift, but I think 1989 is cool.” He says smugly, crossing his arms like there isn’t any room for argument.

She picks up a bottle of Fentimans they nicked from Luke’s mini-fridge, cracks the cap open with her teeth. “Where did you even hear it?”

Ben’s eyes widen, then he gets all _giggly_ as if he’s about to tell her a really controversial secret. “Fuck – don’t tell anyone, or else Poe would kill me.”

Rey bursts out laughing, “Poe Dameron?! But isn’t he into indie? He talked Tallie Lintra into playing the chorus of Call It What You Want when he was crowned prom king.”

“That’s why he was so secretive about it.” He points at her with the rim of his beer bottle, “Don’t try to delay, it’s your turn.”

She rolls her eyes, “Fire away.”

“Hmm.” He thinks for a minute, rubbing his hand on his chin. “Okay, okay. Rumours –”

“Why are you so _obsessed_ with Fleetwood Mac?”

“Humor me, please. I’ve been listening to Taylor Swift and The Lumineers for the past few months.”

“Fine, fine.” she licks her lips, “I’ll try to be as critical as I can.”

“Rey, you don’t have to be critical – it’s a game.”

Rey scoffs loudly, shaking her head. “We both know you’re getting all offensive with whatever I say. You pray at Christine McVie’s altar.”

“You’re insufferable. Whatever – Rumours, Tango in the Night, Mirage, Tusk _._ ”

“Respectively? Top tier, for the messy back story; bottom tier, Everywhere is the only good song in Tango.” She hums, “God tier – _and_ shit tier. I fucking hate Tusk.”

Ben exhales audibly, takes out his ever-reliable iPod Touch. “Of course you’d say that –”

“Ben, Tusk is awful. There is nothing special about it. Don’t you dare play it.” She snatches the device from him, scrolling through his music library. “Rumours is way superior.”

She clicks on Silver Springs _._ “Look! This song – it’s so soft and angry; you can’t get that from Tusk.”

“Oh, a B-side baby.” He mutters as the song starts, staring up at the darkened sky. “You’re always too cool for singles.”

She puts the music on shuffle and lays the device on the table between them. “It’s quite… nice. Catching up again.”

He brings his own drink to his lips, corners of his mouth turning up behind his bottle. Rey knows for a fact that Ben is beautiful; her eyes always manage to find him whenever he’s in the room, his smile begets the difference between her good and bad days. His presence is something of a fixture when she was young, and she reckons if you’re around someone so much, you get used to all that they are.

Although sometimes, it hits her like a derailed train how beautiful he is – _handsome_ , if it’s just the physical – and she has to pause to let that sink in. Her breath hitches, and his face should _not_ work but it does, and it’s so unfair when gods have their favorites, but then if the favorite is _him_ , how can it not be well-deserved?

She is sick of being told that there are beauty in unexpected places; everything is reduced to little things that remind her of him, such as the color of his hair is similar to the granite of the coffee shop counter, or the distance between the mark on his left cheek and the one over his left eyebrow are perfectly equal to the length of a random sugar packet at Maz’s. These, though irrelevant, heightens how the world lined itself to cater to his being – because if something as trivial as a sugar packet amounts to the memory of her wondering if there’ll ever be a chance she can trace the space between two dots on his face with her thumb, then she’s always known where to look.

“I did miss you.” Ben murmurs, spares her a side-glance. “I’ve always wanted to text, but I didn’t think you’d be forthcoming. Especially with how we left things.”

“Considering what happened, I’m pretty certain we left it better than it could have been.”

“Sure. But it would have been great if –”

His phone rings. Basic Reflection ring tone.

He takes it out of his pocket and checks the screen. Rey can’t help but peek; on the corner is a picture of a gorgeous blonde woman with deep blue eyes and red lips, the white text beside it says _Phasma_ with a heart emoji, and there’s a slightly flickering _slide to answer_ panel at the bottom.

His brows furrow a little, but he nevertheless thumbs the screen and swipes to accept the call. Her smile falls flat; she takes a long drink as he walks over to the railings and brings the phone to his ear, “Hey, babe.”

_A heart emoji._ She swallows the drink bitterly and picks up the empty bottles, puts them in black bags for recycling. _Babe? Gross._

She doesn’t try to listen to the conversation, it’s pretty hushed and he just lowly laughs at something his girlfriend tells him. He offers a few words, but he seems to enjoy merely listening to whatever he’s hearing. Oddly enough, her heart squeezes in her chest – heavy, outrageously so – and she breathes evenly to get her head clear.

Somehow, the call makes everything more real. There’s no place for her in this story, because if she were to stand with the stars and look down at this moment in 8.6 years, there’s no changing the truth that she isn’t the one for him.

_But it’s fine_ – it’s all good. It’s not like he’s the one for her, is it? Not like there is some great unknown laid out before them and all they have to do is push through it, wait some time, see where things go. There’s no point in staying stuck, nothing happens when you sit idly around. If it doesn’t matter now, there’s no guarantee it will matter in a few years.

And what if _Phasma with a heart emoji_ is his endgame? Would Rey really wish the worst for them? The time for their window has long passed (if there ever was), and Ben is obviously happy with his life now. Plus, they’re young – she doesn’t really have to rush it, not even to spite him. It’s not a competition of who gets to be happier, of who gets married first and have the white picket fence. No use to mourning about things that will never be.

She’ll move on, and it’ll be _fine._ She really fucking hates that word.

“Wait, babe – Rey, where are you going?” Ben asks, his phone a couple of inches from his ear, the screen lit up indicating that the call is still on-going. She pauses by the door, black bags in her hand. “It’s late – I really should go before Obi looks for me.”

He frowns, steps closer. “I’ll walk you home, hold on –”

She shakes her head and gives him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “No, I’ll be alright. I’ll see you around, Ben.”

Without waiting for his answer, her feet lead her out, thoughts empty apart from minding the stairs down as she tries not to trip.

Rey passes Luke by the porch, still with his damn Frozen mug and champagne. She picks up the empty bottle and puts it away with the rest.

“You going home, kid?”

She nods, tying the bag tightly. He makes a face, “It’s just eleven. I thought you and Ben would’ve taken much longer to catch up. Old Obi asked him to walk you home, you know.”

“He’s catching up with his _girlfriend_. Don’t wanna impose.”

“Ah,” He smirks the way Han does it, like he knows something she doesn’t – like she’s still just a young girl, full of naivety and quite sheltered. It grates on her nerves, and she isn’t really friendly with Luke enough to warrant this. “Lovely girl. Blonde. _Too_ blonde.”

“Yeah?” She walks over to the recycling bin and opens the lid, places the bag inside. “I’ll head out. Happy holidays, if you celebrate that sort of thing.”

“Happy holidays, Rey.”

———

There’s one thing Rey didn’t anticipate about reconnecting with Chance Calrissian. Movie suggestions, coffee orders, and stupid misconceptions about desserts – these are surmised, almost prepared for, even, but the way he coaxed her in coming to this intimate new year’s eve dinner with the Organa-Skywalker-Solo, well –

A few days ago, she’s pretty confident that Finn and Rose are gonna go with her to this party Kaydel Ko Connix will be hosting; apparently, when you’re part of a big family, there are certain traditions upheld on holidays – and with Rose’s relatives coming here from Vietnam, along with Finn’s cousins staying in town, Rey has no excuse but to attend the dinner. And she’s tried making up a _lot_ of them:

_I’m helping out at Maz’s._

_Have to do an essay I haven’t finished yet, it’s quite long._

_I’ll actually be returning to LA the night before._

_Oh sorry, I don’t celebrate the new year’s, I celebrate Têt with Rose’s family (fuck, that’s cultural appropriation – scratch that)._

And when she chooses this knitted jumper she got from Finn – reddish, with a fun pattern and quirky bead work – to go with her trusted ripped jeans, she prays for a meteorite to wreck havoc on their town, or a last minute flu, just to be uninvited to this. Let Obi go by himself, they don’t need to celebrate the new year together.

At all cost, she tries her hardest to avoid Ben since that night. She didn’t attend the catch-up breakfast at Maz’s the day after, nor the Christmas dinner at Uncle Lando’s. Went bowling with Chance when Ben drove to the airport to pick up his girlfriend, and saw Han and Leia when he was showing her around town. Under no occasion would she want to break her streak – but fucking Chance Calrissian does not take ‘no’ for an answer.

_“Do you hear your excuses?” He says, jogs backwards to face her. His Fitbit Charge buzzes happily. “Maz? She closes at lunch that day, I asked her. And you’ve had over a week to finish your essay.”_

_“Yeah, but I’m returning to LA the day before.” She slowly breathes in and out, tries to keep up even though her lungs are burning, “You haven’t pointed out the fault in that.”_

_“Because it’s not true!” He rolls his eyes. He doesn’t look like he’s having trouble – not even after five kilometers on a Wednesday morning. “So go with me to the dinner party – I’ll talk to you all night if you want.”_

_“Are you asking me on a date?” She cringes and waves her arm to take a break. Sometimes, she feels too old for her age – her joints should not be aching because it’s cold. She’s barely 20. “I fucking hate running!”_

_“First thing’s first – get a grip.” He wrinkles his nose in disgust, throws her the towel around his neck. “Secondly, I think, going by my movie reviews, it’s pretty clear that I like dudes. Haven’t come out yet so don’t go around telling my dad.”_

_“What?” She turns to glare at him, burdened with the responsibility of keeping his secret and his sweaty towel, “And you’re telling me why?”_

_“Because I’m helping you out, Rey.”_

Even at seven in the evening on New Year’s Eve, with Obi and Chance walking with her to Han and Leia’s, she’s still thinking about backing the fuck out and heading to Connix’s party on her own. She will not be subjected to this awkward hell-hole, she’s determined to make it back to LA with her sanity – amongst other things – in tact. But then Leia goes in for a hug, leads her to her seat, makes small talks – instantly, she’s lulled to the haze of nostalgia and hopeful turn of events.

At least, that’s what she thinks. Enter the new couple – Ben and _Phasma with a heart emoji_.

In hindsight, she should have been more ready for this. Of course Ben would date someone _this_ beautiful. Ethereal, even – and _how is she so tall? She’s taller than him! She looks like a fucking greek goddess. And she’s smart; they_ did _meet in Columbia. How is it that her only fault is she likes The Lumineers?_

And he does not have a business looking this nice, as if standing beside his girlfriend makes him look better than he actually does. _Untouchable_ , fucking divine or whatever – will he look this lovely when he’s standing next to _her_? Or will she only ever bring him down?

Rey sees Chance inch closer, leans in to whisper: “You like Ben, don’t you?”

She snaps her eyes away from the two to scowl at him, “No, I don’t.”

“Of course, you don’t. I’m just messing with you, stop being so awkward about it.” He nods toward them, and her gaze drifts to where Leia’s currently hugging the girlfriend, taking her away from Ben and introducing her to every relative within the area. “Don’t they look _great_ together? She looks really beautiful.”

“I know.” She glances down at her hands, fiddles with the table napkin. “I fucking know.”

“Huh, and I hear they go to pet shelters and volunteer on weekends. Signed up for a marathon on March. They also have this quiz night every Thursdays with Dameron. Did you know her parents are kind of a big deal in Illinois? So if Leia were to run in 2020 and they get married by then, she’ll have Illinois under her belt –”

“I get it, Chance. They’re perfect together. You don’t have to rub it in.” Rey flips up her empty glass and pours herself the rosé on the table. She didn’t even look out if Obi’s in the room, she just wants to appear _casual_ about whatever’s going to happen tonight.

Chance repositions himself comfortably on his seat and puts an arm around the back of her chair, “You’re pretty obvious, you know? I think it’s cute! I figured you’ve gotten over your little crush, but you didn’t.”

She grunts into her glass, elbowing his stupidly firm abs. He chuckles and touches the top of her head with the ends of his fingers. “Maybe he’ll get jealous when he sees me getting all clingy.”

“He won’t get jealous – he doesn’t think of me that way.” She hisses and shrugs him off. “Can you chill the fuck out?”

“Oh, my sweet summer child.” He fills his own glass, “You’re as stupid as you are pretty.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m totally killing Engineering –”

“Not that kind of stupid.” He kisses her cheek and murmurs to her ear, “Speak of the devil and he doth appear.”

She rolls her eyes and wipes her face, turns to see where he’s looking at.

Ben’s standing a few feet away, watching, face expressionless. Rey frowns and shares a look with Chance, then stares back at him again.

He walks over to them, and she cannot help but notice his fancy new _Jordans_ and remembers how much he absolutely obsesses over his shoe collection. He loves them more than he probably ever loved anyone. Stacks of Nike boxes over the other – never a fan of Adidas. Literally had a large, floor-to-ceiling rack in his bedroom dedicated to it _._

She jokingly stomped on one of his pairs a few years back; as a result, he didn’t talk to her for the rest of the winter break. She kind of wants to do it again tonight, see if it gets him to stay far and well away from her. “You two are looking cozy.”

Chance shrugs, plopping his chin on her shoulder. “I did miss her.”

Rey scrunches her nose, “We’ve seen each other yesterday.”

“You hung out without me?” Ben seems surprised by this; he wordlessly takes the seat on her other side, doesn’t appear to be happy with the news. _Well, my friend, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the world does not revolve around you. Even if it sometimes feels like it does._

They nod, “We saw The Interview and it was awful –”

“I told you I wanted to watch Night at the Museum but you kept bitching about the movie reviews –”

“You _wanted_ to watch Taken 3, Rey.”

“ _You_ wanted to watch Love, Rosie, you don’t get to talk.” She pushes him off her and refills her glass, offers Ben the bottle and he takes it with his brows furrowed. “I’d been meaning to watch The Interview. You guys should’ve told me you were watching. Phasma and I could’ve met with you.”

Chance grins wickedly, “We wouldn’t want to ruin your date, though. Also, why do you call your girlfriend her last name? Aren’t you a bit too intimate for that?”

“She doesn’t like to be called by her first name –”

“Do you really want to go on a double date with me and Rey?”

Ben pauses, glances at them warily. “Well, are you two dating, then?”

“No.” Rey quickly mutters just as Chance spits out a “Nearly.”

_What are you doing?!_ She tries to telepathically tell him off, not at all willing to play the game he’s had on his mind. He merely smirks at her, “Anyway, is that Luke Skywalker I see? Uncle Luke! _Hi!_ ” He waves over their heads to the poor man in question, who is minding his own business by the chocolate fondue and is clearly not pleased with the boy’s enthusiasm.

Her hand darts out to grab his wrist, “I thought you’ll talk to me the _whole_ night. You fucking promised.”

“Oh, did I say that? But Ben’s here with you now. You won’t get bored.” He says innocently, and then to the other guy: “Don’t go around annoying Rey; had to bribe her a lot to go with me tonight.”

When Chance leaves, there’s a moment of silence that’s only slightly stifling – which Ben breaks by chuckling into his drink. She sighs, emptying the contents of her glass. He must know how much effort she’s making to cut the tension. He can’t just show up all perfect and talk like there isn’t anything hanging over their heads _._ “He’s a shit date.”

He tilts his head at her, eyebrow raised. “Are you even dating though?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

They do this weird laugh where it starts strong but fades in the end, which is honestly so much better than Rey can hope for. He taps his fingers rhythmically on the table, stalling, chancing a glance at her. She knows this tell – it’s one of the things he does whenever he’s trying to say something but he doesn’t know how to start, and the irony is a bit hilarious if you think about it; for someone so attuned to ass-kissing and small talk bullshit, he’s terrible at finding the right words when they’re talking. “Remember when we used to sit together at these dinners?”

“Nobody wants to sit around with kids.” She nods, “But this is an upgrade – never knew being able to drink makes these events bearable.”

“Why do you think my parents always insist splurging on the good wines?”

She hums because it’s a rhetorical question (and how do you even answer those?), gestures to his mother and his girlfriend speaking with some faraway cousin from his father’s side. “Phasma seems nice.”

_Did you ever think about how, if you’ve waited, you could have lost your virginity to her?_ She wants to ask him, lost in the browns of his eyes, but this isn’t really the conversation to be had in a room full of his family with his girlfriend present. And she wouldn’t know where to begin even if their setting begs differently.

_Do you ever regret that you lost it to me?_

Ben sighs, smiles wistfully. “She is. Mom seems to be okay with her, though I think dad’s more than a little too attached to you. Tells me she’s too tall for me, grumbles about how you’re the perfect height.”

_The first time I hooked up with a guy after you was a month into freshman year. Fun part is that I knew what to expect, so it’s one thing we got right. No vulnerability, it’s just physical._

The words almost slip out, but instead she says: “She can be a VS angel if she wants. You’re lucky she’s dating you.”

_Did your first hook up feel so hollow, as if you’re out of your body, watching the act? I wasn’t wet enough when Evan from Intro to Mechanics put his dick inside. Not as gentle as you did. Didn’t feel as good as it should have been. Personally, I think he’s a virgin and I feel guilty because it’s kind of just nothing to me._

_Imagine if we’ve waited. Evan would have been my first time._

“Never thought of it that way.”

“Well, you should learn to count your blessings. I think Leia’s already planning your wedding. Probably had the flowers chosen at this point.”

_When I see something new, you’re the first person I want to talk to. Would you dig the new Stephen King novel? What’s your take on The 1975? Do you think about galaxies and fate and stupid timings? Because I do._

He wrinkles his nose adorably, takes another sip. Rey doesn’t know if she wants to punch it off his face or kiss his stupid mouth – and she can’t even do one or the other because a) his mother’s here and b) his girlfriend’s here. If Han were the only one present, he’d probably squeeze her shoulders and hype her up. Or like, push their faces together or something. It’s just really confusing – _Ben’s_ confusing her! And the rosé certainly does not help!

“Do you think I made the right decision when I brought her home? Isn’t it going a little too fast? We said we’re taking it one step at a time but –” He sighs, rubs the back of his neck and looks at her. Is he hopeful? Sad? She doesn’t really know – it’s too many at once. “What do you think, Rey?”

_I think you should bre— no. Stop._ “I think I’m the wrong person to ask.”

“I trust your judgment wholeheartedly. You’re the one who introduced me to Breaking Bad _._ ” He bites his lips, waiting.

She frowns at her glass, and it’s laughable how he wants to imply that his happiness relies explicitly on what she says. Does he really think her opinion on television shows are as consistent as her thoughts about relationships? Especially on _his_ relationship? Doesn’t he know that asking her about his girlfriend is definitely _not_ in ‘the ethics of the after’?

And so what if, ideally, Rey figures there’s something worth exploring between _them,_ her and Ben? They kissed as a goodbye, for fuck’s sake; it shouldn’t be hard to conclude that there might be a little more than friendship in the way they see each other – because if there weren’t any, it shouldn’t be such a big deal that he acted cold and distant after they’ve had sex. They don’t owe each other shit.

However, it did matter to her, because she feels it’s always been the two of them. At five years old, she held her breath and waited when Grandpa Obi told her she’s too young to have a boyfriend. Years passed and she was happy with being just a friend, no longer besotted with his perfect hair and lovely dimples; but they kissed, knew things they weren’t supposed to know about each other – suddenly, she didn’t know how to come back from that.

“Well, I think… you should follow your advice and figure it out.” She gives him a small grin that she’s unsure about the sincerity of. “You said it before: the world will continue begging, doing everything it can, until you get where you’re supposed to be. And maybe you’re there now.” _Even when it’s not with me._

There are things learned through time. Like boys don’t really have cooties, they’re just incredibly obtuse and have this weird fixation about body sprays. Or that the dial on toasters has more to do with minutes than the level of bread-crunchiness. And how much more expensive laundry detergent is now that it isn’t just _there_ and you’re the one buying with your hard earned money from your minimum-wage-paying, part-time jobs.

One thing Rey has realized, despite her generally hesitant reviews about 1989, is that she agrees with Taylor Swift on this: the monsters turned out to be just trees.

Whatever she thinks will happen between them is only a residue from her infatuation when she was five; it’s time to know the difference between what is supposed to be some kind of great love and a cute, childhood crush. Accepting this, she can’t help but be put off – she embarked on the eight-hour bus ride from LA to San Francisco with a little hope in her heart that it may be the right time to give this thing a chance; what she did not expect is that it may have been the time to let things go.

Ben nods, his gaze unwavering on hers. “Yeah, maybe.”

And this is the part where she wants to cry, but it’s New Year’s Eve, and tomorrow comes another beginning. Maybe later, when the clock strikes midnight, when she is forced to watch Ben Solo kiss another woman on the lips, Rey will pat herself on the back, tell herself it’s enough. Close that chapter, lose the memories – stop thinking he was ever hers.

—————

**Spring, 2019**

_New York City_

****

The worst thing about letting your best friend know of your pathetic crush is that they _know_.

It’s just the most annoying thing ever: they get all _giggly_ , expect you to sign your crush’s last name after your first name, keep trying to insert said crush into conversations (even if you’ve established that you’re a strong, independent woman who’ve grown out of it and are happily single, it doesn’t matter to them). When you incidentally smile at your phone while the two of you are out for lunch, they’ll assume it’s because you’ve seen a picture of him on your news feed or on some post on Instagram. Oh, and the teasing; god knows it’s so hard to cope – _“Didn’t he add you on Facebook? Yeah, Poe showed me the receipts!”_

Imagine if your pathetic, _previous_ crush is some B-list celebrity-slash-possibly the future first son of your country. _¡Qué horror!_

Rey should not have told Finn about it, that’s for sure. If she hadn’t, he wouldn’t have told his boyfriend – who, by the way, is _previous_ crush’s roommate all throughout college and his closest friend. Sometimes, she thinks about how different it will be had she set Finn up with Chance before he got together with Poe – would she ever have to get worried about her social media activity? Will she be able to stalk _various_ Instagram profiles without having to explain herself?

_Thank the lord Rose doesn’t know. I can’t handle them teaming up – but oh, when she finds out… and tells Armitage. Oh god._

As she puts her earphones in (AirPods are unnecessarily expensive and the possibility of loss is effortlessly high), Rey worries if Dameron has told Ben yet, if murder is really _that_ big a deal or will she be able to pull it off as self-defense.

In all honesty, if Finn hadn’t found out for himself and needed clarity, she’s going to take her little crush to a secret box, lock it thrice and forget where she’d put the keys, take the box to her grave and let it rest peacefully. Nobody should have known this at all – and she can’t believe his loyalty is to his boyfriend rather than hers; she’s been his friend _longer_!

The suspense is killing her though. It’s like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, like there’s going to be a shift in the tides, or a sudden pink moon, or some new continent emerging – but nothing’s happening, _nothing_ , and there’s no way to prepare for the inevitable.

Thing is, it’s not even that serious – so what if Ben finds out that she accidentally liked his post? What’s the worst that could happen? The world isn’t going to end because her fingers slipped; no, people have to focus on the ice caps melting and turtles stuck in six-pack rings. There are more pressing concerns than stupid crushes and fucking unforeseen friend requests – the universe is much greater than one person.

She scrolls through Spotify, clicks on a playlist entitled ‘subway sesh’, walks into the train when it stops in front of her. Shut Up and Dance blares into her ears, and she has to hide her phone in embarrassment in case anybody peeks. For how much she’s listened to this playlist, Rey doesn’t know where to draw the line on playing it out of spite and actually liking it. It’s so stupid – this is why she doesn’t trust Dameron when it comes to curating the perfect commute playlist; it’s like he’s never taken the subway _ever_ in his entire life! How could he make a thirty-song playlist for an eight-minute commute?

By the time she reaches her stop, the queue has transitioned to Pillowtalk (barely three songs in). She stands up to line with the people going out, minds the gap between the platform and the train – she’s always been terrified she’ll fall – and frowns at some idiot who tries to get inside when there’s still a stream of people getting out. “Can’t you fucking wait?”

“Who put a stick up your ass, lady?” The stranger says, intentionally bumping shoulders with her as he goes to stand by the windows. Her jaw drops, and as she is about to roll her sleeves up and demand a fight, the train door closes, separating them. He smirks at her, and for good measures, she raises her middle finger.

This night could not get any worse. And it’s only half past seven!

She huffs, thinks about what to get for dinner. Rose has expressed interest on Italian, but Rey feels it’s a little out of her budget at the moment. She contemplates about getting shawarma from the place on the corner of their street, but all thoughts about food leaves her mind when she catches a glimpse of a head full of mid-length, dark hair walking further to the station.

Rey tries to stand on her tip toes, craning her neck to see if it’s _him_ and if he’s really here, but the rush hour crowd doesn’t agree favorably, and she’s getting pushed up, and her heart’s about to jump out of her chest, _oh god, where is he – do I look okay? Fuck, I probably looked so tired –_

“Hey!” An annoyed, middle-aged woman glares at her, urging her forward. Rey frowns, gives one last sweep over the area, and sighs defeatedly, “Okay, okay. Sorry.”

Her feet seems to work automatically, footsteps leading her to the exit. She puts her fallen earphones back on and clicks the old playlist from seven years ago that she imported onto her account. A New Radicals song plays, and she looks at the sky and rolls her eyes at whoever’s watching up there. She isn’t religious, but her life’s been a joke lately and she needs somebody to blame.

_Do you find any of these funny? I bet you do! Give me a break, please!_

She’s always assumed she can find him in a room full of people, as proven so many times over the years, but she has underestimated how angry New Yorkers are when they’re tired. It may be the skies telling them it’s not worth the hassle, that she should stop finding closure and meaning to all the things he does, that it’s just not going to happen. She’s twenty five years old – it’s been twenty years since she’s met him, and contrary to popular belief, that’s a long time to have known someone.

_Twenty fucking years and nothing._

Even so, lord knows how much she’s rehearsed what she’s going to say to him when they meet again. The last time they talked, they didn’t exactly part amicably and it’s been about two years now. Has he forgiven her? The friend request surely implies that he’s made peace with it, or that he’s at least indifferent now – and maybe that hurts more than anything because she’s never going to be indifferent when it comes to Ben Solo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behind the scenes/references:
> 
> 👤Santiago is the Filipino equivalent of the name James; Jaime is also a good alternative and I feel both diminutive are influenced by the Spanish. I’ve elected to use Santiago though because a friend of mine was named James due to his father being a Santiago. I just think it’s neat!!!
> 
> Fun fact: Santiago is also the official name of the Book of James in Bagong Tipan (New Testament).
> 
> Initially, he’s named Yasha (Russian equivalent). Until the literal last minute. 
> 
> 👤[Chance Calrissian](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Lando_Calrissian,_Junior) (who is definitely not in their age group in EU)
> 
> 👥Hozier and James Bay did a few shows together in November, year of our lord 2014. It’s glorious. And perfect. (Also, I am aware that Hozier is Irish, and James Bay is the British one. But Rey is ignorant on these things because she doesn’t really listen to them).
> 
> ⭐️Sirius is 8.61 lightyears away, but this is not always constant because (and disclaimer: not really sure I think I just heard it in class) it gets closer to Earth over time. If, at the time you read this bit, Sirius is 7 lightyears away, please don’t @ me. Also, hi from 2020. You’re much closer to a possible stellar collision, but at least you’re not *alive* this year. 
> 
> Albums/songs mentioned (I did not mean for it to be this way, I’m sorry) - Spotify links, “💿” links are bound to play automatically:
> 
> 💽[A Very She & Him Christmas](https://open.spotify.com/album/0GJM7hjSABK1ApuS97sUkT?si=wniOoq3cSDGYmTZ2Jciv7A) by She & Him (not mentioned but this is what’s playing in the party)  
> 💽[Hozier](https://open.spotify.com/album/0Uv83rRhY5QvHKkQoULRKk?si=Ih2ftJp8Q-OoDTDUhwY3aQ) by Hozier  
> 💽[Let It Go](https://open.spotify.com/album/5jnPO2IuTJbZqdFXZgxgn1?si=PHwwXh9QRoqsAEAQ1zB2oA) (ep) by James Bay  
> 💽[Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die](https://open.spotify.com/album/1hxraaWEf3wFnJxADf8Dge?si=kVXfKCkjQtSt2lp-fVFr8w) by P!ATD  
> 💽[1989](https://open.spotify.com/album/1yGbNOtRIgdIiGHOEBaZWf?si=tvmTA2KlSjiRU8wGulWOUw) by Taylor Swift  
> 💿[Call It What You Want](https://open.spotify.com/track/3u1Er1rkjn1oSz1xdZH3ZD?si=fMKexQh2SgCH3vAC2OLa5g) by Foster The People  
> 💽Rumours, Mirage, Tusk, Tango in the Night by [Fleetwood Mac](https://open.spotify.com/artist/08GQAI4eElDnROBrJRGE0X?si=xHJ-cuNHQiW7oGVM8HVpMw)  
> 💿[Out of the Woods](https://open.spotify.com/track/0qUnBLZ8bJqUNEeQgayL9t?si=p7sRhOjRR5-2WGg2mmT2zQ) by Taylor Swift _(the monsters turned out to be just trees)_  
>  💿[Shut Up and Dance](https://open.spotify.com/track/4kbj5MwxO1bq9wjT5g9HaA?si=pPFsZgg7Rf-q_MW0m3aQ2Q) by WALK THE MOON  
> 💿[Pillowtalk](https://open.spotify.com/track/0PDUDa38GO8lMxLCRc4lL1?si=0MLCvhf4S0uFD77hA-SlZA) by Zayn  
> 💿[Someday We’ll Know](https://open.spotify.com/track/5X0zqWSaSnulsbf74CrljV?si=pGPp3IRnSPSB3F0evMvRAg) by New Radicals
> 
> Anyway, I’m trying to update as quick as I can (but I work 10-ish hours on a good day and upwards 14 on a not-so-good day) - will try to get the next one asap but I kind of want to read instead of write atm; thank you so much for the continuing support ♥️ i love all of u
> 
> If you think this is ridiculous, wait ‘til you read the next chapter (I have it *outlined*). I’m really scared they’ll never come back from it. (But they will 🤭)
> 
> ANYWAY - THE 1 BY TAYLOR SWIFT AMIRITE!!
> 
> Edit: oh! forgot to add, if u have fic recs lmk? And also if u have twitter let me know please i just wanna follow everyone (im not really expecting a followback i just made the twitter basically for textfics and fic recs and my feed’s really empty atm)


	4. Stars, part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Before, on ‘waste my time’:**
> 
> Rey goes back for the first time in SF since she graduated high school, attended the Leia’s Christmas thing, and we find out that Ben got in a relationship. Rey decides she’ll move on.
> 
> Years later, she thinks she saw Ben in the subway platform. 
> 
> ... and onto the word vomit that is the next chapter!
> 
> C/TW: incredibly LONG, minor suicidal thought in the paragraph that starts with “Rey’s a smart girl...” (just that paragraph); someone gets together with another person that’s not the main ship. Also, did I tell you it’s INCREDIBLY LONG?

**Spring, 2015**

_Los Angeles_

The funny thing about life is that it simply… goes on.

Rey trades her two-year-old Vans with a pair of white Converse, which, understandably, also hurts the first twenty times she’s worn it. Rose lets her get away with working out without a membership in the gym she works at, and it fixes her breathing whenever she goes up the steep stairs leading to their apartment. The campus radio asks her to make playlists that goes on for an hour on Saturday nights, where she picks some shit that not everyone would’ve liked (last week, it was all about the theatre kids and none for the ravers).

She joins Instagram to check on Finn because he never uses Facebook anymore, gets corrective lenses after she complained to him about her concurring migraines ( _“Stop being stubborn, you squint at every overhead menu since I met you!”)_. Santiago mopes all day at the shop when One Direction announces that one of them has left the band, and it made Rey roll her eyes so hard, she gets a little lightheaded.

_“Karma comes easy to those who asks for it.” He says as he hands her a glass of water._

_She glares at him, “Lack of sleep isn’t karma.”_

_“Well, maybe it is!”_

Time passes normally – and you won’t think it will, but it does. Rey’s classes have been getting harder and harder, and she reckons it blurs all the nights and the mornings into endless days, and maybe that’s a good thing. She’s made friends, too. It’s not just Rose and Santiago and some guy who mans the desk at the garage – she’s got herself an active study group; they do abuse her employee’s discount for their caffeine fix, though she finds it okay because they get to share their cheat sheets with her.

By the end of April, she’s persuaded to join a student organization. Granted, it doesn’t really feel like much of an _org_ , it’s just people meeting to discuss something and she never listens, only bothers showing up for the free flowing beer (she thinks it’s about films, but she’s not sure – they do discuss Gravity a lot). She’s almost 21, and Obi used to tell her that if your next birthday is closer than your previous birthday, then you’re already a year older.

And between all-nighters, recreational activities, and two part-time jobs, she hardly ever thinks about _him._

But there’s always something missing: she’s unsteady, like trying to stop a leak but she can’t see where the crack is. Rey doesn’t know how long she can keep hold of all her parts from spilling out, unable to determine what it is that makes her undone.

———

Joseph is somebody that Rey merely recalls meeting by sitting beside him once in an early morning make-up session on Structural Theory. His hair screams the _trust fund baby_ shade of blond, face accompanied by a striking jaw line that’s really weirdly proportionate. He’s cute, in a perfect way _cute_ , because every part of his face seems to fall into the right place – sort of like you’d expect his mouth to be that exact color of pink, or that his eyebrows should have that particular unknown number of strands, otherwise he’d be all _odd._

One particular day – and she remembers this because Rose had accidentally worn the CalState sweater that she’s supposed to use – he sits beside her in the barely populated campus library. Rey has to look up from her plates to check if there aren’t any seats left, “It’s… Rey, right?”

“Yep.” She returns to the plan she’s analyzing, highlights a column she just finished.

“Just Rey?” He puts his backpack on the desk in front of him.

She frowns, “Yeah.”

“I’m Joseph Seastriker. Joph.”

“… A bit pretentious, don’t you think? ‘Joe’ is totally fine, and it makes up for your uncommon last name.”

He chuckles, takes out his binder. “Dunno, ask my mom. Can I borrow your notes? I didn’t get to follow last week’s lecture because I was studying for Professor Mothma’s exam and – sorry, I’m rambling. I’ll treat you to a coffee, though?”

She cringes inwardly because of the awkward way he tries to be charming, but concedes at the very end; it is free coffee after all, and not something she has to make herself.

———

He takes her to a movie theater on their first date. They watch the third Insidious chapter, and he hides behind his hoodie the whole half of it.

She never really takes in the scenes after that, too busy throwing him pop corn and laughing as he tries to peak between his fingers. They’re shushed a few times, and have given up on trying to make sense of the plot fifty minutes in.

It’s a cool spring night, so for dinner, they opt for an outside table rather than in. He orders a double cheeseburger for her, and himself some fish and chips. They talk about nothing and everything and it’s nice. It’s something she could get used to in the long run.

“Why did you even choose that movie if you’re going to miss all of the good parts?” She asks as they reach the entrance of her building.

He shrugs, smiles like he doesn’t have any self-preservation. “I hear it’s very effective to take your date to a horror movie so they’d hold your hand throughout.”

Rey snorts, shoves him playfully. “And it didn’t work, so what’s your point?”

“I mean… you let me walk you home. That’s a win for me.”

———

Their first kiss happens on their fourth date.

He drags her to the nearest Barnes and Noble after her shift at the garage, swears to god he checked online if there’s an available Winter Soldier collection in stock (he checked two days ago, there’s _one_ ), but they leave the store empty handed. She takes him to Baskin-Robbins and treats him to a scoop of mint chocolate chip so the blow to his losses doesn’t seem all that bad.

They walk to a nearby park and sit on the grass, and Rey touches the tips of her sticky fingers to his own as she jokes about his hyper-fixation on anti-heroes with great hair. Joph frowns at her, but he shifts to hold her hand properly, fingers wrapped together and all gross from the dripping ice cream cone. The smile spreading across her face is something she doesn’t try to stop.

On the horizon, the sun sets, and it’s perfect because the weather isn’t very humid. When he leans in, she closes her eyes, and it’s the kind of kiss that waits for the right moment, one that is written in the books. It’s something inevitable, like fates have decided long ago that their lips are meant to meet at this very exact second.

And she feels him grinning, despite the fact that they’re too close and she can’t see him properly. He traces the line of her jaw with his thumb, and she sighs as they part.

“Just so we’re clear – I _am_ your boyfriend, right? This isn’t just casual dating?” He quirks an eyebrow at her, and she realizes how fond she is of his face. She doesn’t even think too hard about the implications of his question; it’s just lovely to know that there’s someone who likes her enough to _want_ to date her exclusively (she’s not exactly the most charming girl there is), and that someone is a person she’s happy to be around with. He never lets her get insecure about what he feels for her, and she supposes it’s the actual basis of why she likes him back.

Rey pretends to contemplate about it that his mood falls dejectedly, then kisses him again twenty-three seconds later.

—————

**Summer, 2015**

_Los Angeles_

When she turns 21 that summer, there’s a string of messages that arrives:

_Hi Rey_

_Not sure if this is still your number._

_You must be busy. So much space in LA to get things done._

_I saw a pic of you with the bruised Pennywise while I was cleaning my room this morning_

_I think Luke wants to use it to meditate when he finally moves back from god knows where. Australia?_

_You know the sun’s always right in that part of the house_

_Rey_

And the last bubble, timestamped an hour ago:

_Happy birthday._

She sees the notification on her home screen at 10 in the evening, already four hours too late from the first message. They come from an unknown number, but it’s familiar enough for Rey to know who it is. She thinks about what to say, if a simple ‘thanks im 21’ is too friendly or too indifferent, fingers hovering over her keyboard as she types and deletes.

Joph sends her a sweet good night chat on Messenger, thanks her for the day well-spent together with Obi, how happy he is that she’s _here_. He tells her he loves her.

She frowns, focuses on what he said and tries to find the right words because how do you even reply to that? When someone tells you they love you and you don’t love them as much _yet_ , but you finally have one good thing going for you, and you’ll do anything to keep them because you know you’ll get there eventually. You’re torn, because relationship built on lies aren’t going to last –

_i can see you typing for 10 minutes rey. you dont have 2 say it back. ill wait x_

She bites her lips, relieved, and replies to her boyfriend _(fucking hell, boyfriend!)_ – _i thank all the stars for u every night –_ before she goes back to the other conversation. 

When she settles on _its 3 fucking years since u texted ben_ and a cactus emoji, it’s already five past midnight, and Rose enters the door then drops beside her dramatically. “Belated H-B-D, bestie.”

Her birthday is officially over. Her best friend doesn’t seem to have the best of her days, so she wraps her arms around her. “Big two-one.”

“Twenty-one. I should’ve taken you for a drink.” Rose sighs, “D’you ever think you’d get here ten years ago?”

Rey lets the incoming messages of the next few months bury the greeting in her inbox, unanswered.

—————

**Fall, 2015**

_Los Angeles_

One night, as Rey listens to Hotline Bling (Joph’s new favorite song, unfortunately; he knows all the moves, he’s proved it – not encouraged by her – in one of the org events she’s roped him into), she receives a text from Finn: _I’m gay._

A million thoughts run through her head – has he told anyone else? Does he have a sexual awakening thing? Has he always known this in his bones? – but ultimately, there’s this chance she sees, and she’s a hundred percent sure that he’s going to appreciate her reply: _i thought u were american_

He replies back with a dozen tears of joy emoji, and then another text: _Thank you. I’m literally ugly crying on my bed rn._

_you know i love you right?,_ it seems like she needs to ask anyway, even if she gets the message across. Sometimes, actions are actions and they are enough without much said, but it’s nice to use your words, lay it all on the table. Words are reassuring, a temporary relief to the things you have to prove. And it’s a good form of validation.

Finn types and types and types, and he doesn’t finish until two minutes later (he couldn’t have taken two minutes to type these words): _I know. Hard same._

She dials him, eyes stinging. Happy that her friend trusts her enough to open up to her. _“_ So… when did you know?”

He chuckles, then sniffs. “I think it was way back when I have that weird fixation on Lady Gaga.”

“Shit, Finn – that was four fucking years ago.”

“I keep looking back and I can’t remember when it started to become a reality for me, but that was, in part, a relevant confirmation of what I already know.”

A beat. “Thanks for telling me. I love you.”

“Love you too, Rey.”

She feels important, and she shouldn’t use this as emotional gratification because it’s not about her, but goddamn it, _she feels important._

———

Rey starts the third Thursday of November like she usually does with any random Thursday.

She goes to her only class that morning – a six-hour, three-in-one session on Reinforced Concrete Design – then turns up for her shift at the coffee shop at around three. Santiago high-fives her as he clocks out, and she plugs her phone in the speakers so that it plays the Spotify playlist that her boyfriend made for her last week (it’s mostly Ed Sheeran – _no_ , she realizes four songs in _, it’s all Ed fucking Sheeran._ )

There’s a chime from the door, and she goes to the cashier and smiles up at the customer. It’s someone from their class that she never really talks to, so she’s unsure about the name. Thinks the guy’s called Matt. “Hey! How are you?”

“Hi, yes –” he doesn’t even look up from his phone, continues scrolling like she isn’t there, but Rey doesn’t drop her smile. “— one mint mocha latte, please. Can I get that in medium?”

She nods, scribbles a squiggly line on the paper cup because she may be wrong – he’s starting to seem like a _John_ after every second that passes.“Sure thing! That’ll be 4.95.”

He hands her five dollars, “Keep the change.” Still thumbing his phone.

She wants to deck him.

She settles with entering the amount on the register and printing the receipt, then notices the date as she hands Matt/John the paper.

_Oh._

She makes the drink and calls the guy – he picks up the cup before she finishes saying “latte”, so the mystery of his name is something that cannot be solved today. The door chimes once more when he leaves.

Left by herself, she picks up her phone from her back pocket and goes to her inbox, to the thread of texts she hasn’t bothered replying to for months and months. Her fingers hover over the screen, and she reads the bubbles on the other side.

The last one reads: _Happy birthday._

Rey copies the two words, debates adding an emoji but decides against it, and presses backspace.

  
She can’t bear to delete the whole conversation though; she shuts her phone so that she wouldn’t be tempted to text. Doesn’t bother greeting _him_ that day, but she does take a second to think about him before she closes.

_You’re 21. I hope you make good decisions._

The rest of the night goes normally, but Rey’s momentum is slightly imbalanced. She shrugs it off, procrastinates, and goes to sleep early.

_—————_

**Winter, 2015**

_Los Angeles_

“J.” Rey murmurs as she checks her emails, back aching because of the way she splays on Joph’s couch. Her laptop is perched on her stomach rather than her thighs, and her head is angled so poorly, it’ll make cracking sounds once she gets up (not to mention the awful double chin she’s showing her boyfriend at the moment).

He acknowledges her with a quiet hum, distracted by the torrented copy of Kingsman playing on the TV. She nudges his thigh with her sock-clad foot, and he lifts it up by the balls of her ankle to place it on his lap. “Thanks. By the way, are you really sure you wanted to spend the holidays with us?”

“Yeah. Already told my mom about it. Why?” He spares her a curious glance, squeezing a ticklish spot in the middle of her sole. She jerks with a startled laugh, then puts it under his nose. “You fucker – smell it!”

He chuckles, cradles the offending foot back as he rubs soothing circles on all the right areas. She sighs, looks back at her screen. The E-vite for Leia’s annual holiday party screams at her (“Click me, you coward!”) and she turns to her boyfriend again.

“Bring a suit, okay?”

He makes a face, “Aren’t we just hanging around with Obi and Finn and Rose? Do we really need to dress up for that?”

She rolls her eyes, knowing how much he _hates_ wearing stiff clothes. He barely wears jeans, settles for a comfortable pair of sweatpants in class. “We’re going to a party. It’s just one night, I promise.”

“Party?” He shrugs, not wanting to ask but clearly very curious about it. “A dress-up party.”

“It’s not a big deal. But it _is_ a bit formal, sort of political. A bit of mixed from both left and right. It’s just an old family friend’s party that Obi and I get invited to every year. We don’t even have to stay the whole time, but it’s kind of tradition at this point and there’ll be loads of people in high places you can talk –”

“Rey, baby.” He interrupts her rambling, smiles at the TV. “I’ll bring a suit.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” She drags her trackpad to the email, views the necessary details, and sends her response for two instead of one. She doesn’t think about the implications.

———

They arrive early because Maz wants to meet her boyfriend without having to worry about immediate kitchen duties.

Rey sighs as she watches the older woman fuzz over Joph, and it didn’t matter before (it doesn’t matter _now_ ), but seeing him standing beside the closest person she could call her ‘fun’ auntie, it’s hard to miss that he isn’t very tall.

She doesn’t have to wear heels so she can feel pretty beside him, they’re basically the same height. He still towers a bit over Maz, and it isn’t a deal breaker. He’s smart and he’s good to her; it doesn’t matter if he’s not a hulking giant. He won’t make it to the NBA, but she never really keeps up with that anyway.

_Unlike someone._

Rey grabs a glass of wine from the barely set-up mobile bar and looks around.

Cocktail tables scatter the area (something new; they pushed the party after dinner so it’s all just finger foods), with their fun, red and white poinsettia arrangement that are apparently ‘home grown’ by the hostess herself. There are gold garlands and rustic, brown wreaths hung on the walls and the ceiling, and quirky mistletoes over unsuspecting places. The lights are dimmer than usual, and candles with dried pinecones and fake cranberries cramped into glass vases light up the room ethereally (she wonders about fire hazards and thinks these might be something that break some kind of law). The cream christmas tree at the front of the room is decorated with gold ornaments shaped as reindeers and snowflakes, glittery ribbons and twigs in places that look really fancy rather than smart, and flowers in places that it doesn’t leave an empty spot. This year, Leia opts for a handcrafted angel rather than the Star of Bethlehem. Rey hopes she changes her playlist, too.

Joph comes to stand beside her, grabs her glass, and takes a sip. “I love Maz, I really do, but she likes to touch, doesn’t she?”

She chuckles, nods. “Sorry if she made you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that. She didn’t, like, _grope_ me or something. She likes physical contact and you know how it is in my family. We don’t really kiss and hug and hold each other’s hands.” He hums and smiles at her, “It’s kinda nice.”

“I’m surprised she even let you go. She probably has a crush on you or something.”

He laughs and wraps an arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. “Aw, Rey, _baby_ , don’t be jealous. You’re the only one for me, girl!”

“Shut up.” She snorts, shrugs him off to go help out in the kitchens before Leia and her lot arrive to welcome their guests. She sees him pout when she looks back, and it’s so endearing, she can’t help but grin. “Are you coming or what?”

———

Rey should really stop going to these parties. She really should.

Leia hugs her when she goes out of the kitchens, which feels kind of like something you never really know you miss until it happens again. She tells her Han is held up at the house because she told him to get ready _earlier_ , but he didn’t listen. She mutters about father and son and how they’re so much alike, that Rey should get herself a man who she doesn’t have to grumble _I told you so_ to under her breath. Then Joph walks up to them, and his eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

“We voted for you.”

“Oh, thank you, dear. I really appreciate it.”

“I just have to say I’m usually not this un-cool, and this is so weird but I’m _really_ –!”

Rey has to drag her boyfriend away and mouths her apologies to the poor woman as they walk to the other side of the room.

“I just met Leia Organa. Did I meet Leia Organa or is that her twin brother?” He asks her, hand over his probably erratic heart. “Don’t tell me I told her we voted for her.”

She frowns, taps him on the shoulder. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, fanboy. They aren’t identical twins.”

“Oh god, why didn’t you tell me we’re going to Leia Organa’s party!? I could’ve kept myself in check, I could’ve asked her about the most obvious thing! Weather! Instead I told her, in a very annoying way, may I add, that I voted for her!” He runs a hand down his face, flushes pink under the collar of his ecru shirt. She nods sympathetically, picking up an invisible lint on his lapel. “Don’t worry, she gets that a lot.”

“God, I fucking hate you.”

She rolls her eyes, “So ungrateful.”

The night starts really well, and she actually manages to spit out a small talk or two. There’s this lady, about Obi’s age, that asks her where she got her dress from when Joph is away getting drinks, and she didn’t want to embarrass herself and say Forever 21 or Zara because she doesn’t really know (it was thrifted), so she says it’s “just something I have lying around” and “where did you get yours?” then “oh, I bought my lucky socks from that shop a month ago.”

The lady grins at her in a way that she can see all of her perfect teeth, and it’s eerie and _they must be dentures, right? Nobody has_ that _too many perfect teeth in her age. Hell, I don’t even have_ that _much teeth probably._

She lets her go after seeing somebody she knew behind her. Rey feels relieved all the same. Then Han waves at her from the entrance, and –

And Ben is smiling, and he smiles with his eyes that you can see it even if you’re at opposite ends of the room (she’s seen it when he’s on stage and she’s lost in the sea of crowd, she’s seen it when he wins his first junior league game, she’s seen it reflecting the orange hues of the sunset, she’s seen it _everywhere_ ). She feels her lips quirk up, and lifts her hand to do a subtle _hello_ , and why does she want to go and hug him and how is it so different and so the same as last year’s party?

He makes a gesture like he’s going to come over, and she feigns she misunderstands, an eyebrow going up in question. He chuckles to himself and she couldn’t hear it but she knows the sound, and he’s walking and walking and –

_—and he’s cut his hair. Why does he still look so good with short hair?_

Rey can’t have prepared herself for this, and she tries not to keep her thoughts from turning into mush, she tries to hide him in the box at the very depths of her mind like she did the whole year, but he’s here and she knows he’ll be here, but she didn’t really think about anything when she accepted the _E-vite_ , because she’s in a good place, right? It shouldn’t matter if they’re in the same room.

Her skin shouldn’t tingle, she shouldn’t be _so_ unbelievably glad he’s still alive (okay, that’s just human decency, it’s not like she wishes him death), and she shouldn’t have problems about keeping her heart rate in check.

It’s very unfair to her boyfriend.

She looks away and goes over to where Joph is, standing by the mobile bar. “J, you go do your thing. I’m just – I’ll be in the terrace. I don’t really like these things.”

“Hey, are you okay?” He rubs soothing circles on the small of her back. She shrugs, picks up a bottle of the pretentious craft beer, and squeezes his hand reassuringly. Her mind’s still reeling. “Fine. Good. _Great_.”

“Do you wanna go home?”

“Don’t be stupid – you haven’t even met Han Solo yet.”

“Oh fuck, I forgot he’s married to Senator Organa! _Oh_ _fuck_ , where is he?” He scans the area to look for someone with Han’s face and body from twenty years ago. Bad news is, he wouldn’t see him – Han is how many years older than he was when he’s doing the Olympics thing. He’ll only see –

“Nerd.” She plasters on a grin and clears the hair that falls from his brush-up, “He’s by the door the last time I saw him.”

He is hesitant to leave, squeezing her waist reassuringly as he reaches for the drink the bartender placed on the counter. “It’s fine – I could stay with you. Don’t know these people anyway. Don’t wanna leave you alone.”

She lays her head on his shoulder for a moment, grateful, then waves him off. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been coming to these parties since I can remember. Got sick of it, but it’s your first time so you should enjoy yourself.”

He walks her to the glass doors that lead to the terrace, “Alright, alright. Promise me you’ll get me when you want to go home; anytime from now, I’m ready to leave with you.”

She nods, nudging him away. “God, babe. Just go enjoy yourself. I promise I’ll come get you when I wanna go.”

Her boyfriend gives her one last knowing look, but kisses her cheek and lets it go. She sends him a small, reassuring grin and sighs, “You’re the best, J.”

“I know.”

Rey watches him get back to the party, lays the cold bottle of her beer on the concrete handrail. She smoothens her dress in the reflection of the glass and follows the blond head of her plus one as he goes around the lot, being his usual charismatic self and attracting attention as he moves. He doesn’t try hard to start conversations, and he’s such a great listener that he can extend them a lot longer than the average small talk.

He has that natural pull to him, and she suppose it’s an extrovert thing. He likes getting attention and giving it, he likes being able to contribute to the topic at hand. His walk is confident, and it’s not much of a skill rather than an innate ability; he doesn’t seem to practice it, not nurtured for years and years until it becomes second nature.

_Unlike Ben –_

She stops herself, the head of her bottle inches from her lips. And thinks.

Ben can work the room and give great speeches, but there’s a certain factor to him that she knows it’s only because he’s forced upon the life he has now. He pulls eyes like people aren’t really aware they’re looking at him until he looks back, and she reckons it’s his intensity, or that it’s quite obvious that he isn’t showing his true self, that inflicts the kind of urge to open him up and dig until something – a part of him – gives.

Rey wonders if it’s some kind of chemical reaction, or an aftershock of being around his presence for so long (or for being away from him in the recent years, as if she craves it), but she can’t ever be in the same room as him and not know he’s there. She doesn’t think she can not be aware of what he’s doing when his mere existence shouts at her, like a black hole that you never really know you’re going headfirst into until it’s too late.

It’s so unfair to her sweet, loving boyfriend.

And it is – especially when she catches herself eyeing a head full of dark hair instead.

_You’re over him, Rey. Get a fucking grip._

She turns away to gaze at the view, leaning back onto a matching concrete pillar. The stillness of the manmade lake clears her head, calm and peaceful and unassuming in its audience. The tall grass near the bank is swarmed with fireflies, and without them, the dark of the night would be too overpowering. There are stars that dot the sky, and she doesn’t even look too hard to check if they are those that showed up last year; she reasons that if she weren’t the same person as she was, then they don’t really have any right to stay unchanged.

_At least Rey at twenty-one wears long sleeves on winter nights like a practical adult. She doesn’t have to borrow a stupid scarf._

She drinks, and drinks until the bottle empties. She doesn’t move to get a new one, tears the label into shreds until all that’s left are the gross, sticky, translucent glue.

She stays put, and for a minute, the world stops spinning with her, saying that they’re on her side for once, and it’s going to be okay. The crickets and the frogs and the dragonflies leave her be, they stop judging – stop looking for the context. They don’t care about her selfishness and inner turmoils and all that shit, they just exist.

“ _It’s fine, Rey. You’re going to be fine. Things are worse because it’s not the end.”_ They all seem to say.

She hopes she’s dumb enough to believe it. But her luck cannot guarantee its success. Rey’s known for a very long time that when you hope for the best, you’re only getting the worst. She’s stopped trying to leave everything to fate – they won’t intervene until she actually does something about it.

So she’s moved on – _or moving on,_ the specifics don’t matter at any given moment because there really isn’t anything else to be done – and she did not idle, refused to be burdened with whatever sentimentality tethering her to this place, to _him_. She found somebody she can _think_ of loving in the long run, and it’s fucking unfair to her that she’s asking and wondering about these thoughts after all the work she’s put on. Nothing changes, and she knows this for a fact. She has a boyfriend now.

And still: the world has plans for her. She feels him _way_ before she hears him approaching, his stare like an itch on her back that she can’t quite fully reach. Ben walks to her side, and she doesn’t spare him a glance – instead, she continues to look at the blankness ahead, not really registering what she’s looking _at_ , looking _for_.

He clears his throat and lays a bottle of beer on the concrete railing, a few inches from the one she recently emptied. For a few minutes, they just stand together quietly, and she picks up the drink he brought. He clears his throat once more, “Nice night?”

Rey shrugs, finally looks at him.

Up this close, his hair was cut nicely, but she does wonder if he lost a bet because some of the edges weren’t trimmed primly (or that he’s finally realizing that his ears are a part of his charm, rather than something awful he has to hide). He’s wearing a suit with plaid pattern that’s really subtle due to the black and darker-black accents. The bones of his cheeks are more prominent, like he’s not eating well ( _doubtful_ , given that he looks bigger than she’s ever seen him) or that he’s growing into his features ( _either way, it works well in his favor_ ). His eyes have this strange hue to them that she hasn’t ever seen before – “Did you get contacts?”

Ben looks down at her, startled by her question. His free hand hovers over his face, as if he isn’t quite sure what to do with it. “Yes, I got glasses early this year. Just didn’t wear them because Leia insisted I have to look the part.”

“And what part is that?” She thinks about him pushing his glasses up his nose whenever he gets into his own head, or when he’s trying not to doze off in the subway. Her stomach feels a bit heavier than she would have liked.

“I’m not even sure at this point.” He licks his lips, “I hope it’s the one you root for.”

She smiles, but not because she’s happy. She never liked his riddles; why can’t he ever just answer directly to the point? “Okay.”

“So…” he says after a while, his own drink makes the third of the collection on the railing. “You do have a type.”

“Not this again.” She grunts into her bottle, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I’m speaking in English, Rey.”

“I know you’re fucking speaking in English, Ben –”

“— and I’m saying: you have a type. Guys you go for.”

She shoots him a glare, but relents back to the crickets and the lake, hopes to god they’ll help her out of this. _I went for you, didn’t you remember?_

“What is my type, exactly?”

He looks at her, and then turns to try to see what she’s seeing. There’s nothing in the dark that can get her away, and he should know that. He’s spent some time finding its meaning himself. “Nice teeth. Great skin. Great hair. That sort of thing.”

Rey can’t help the snort that comes out of her. “You think all I care about are the looks?”

“No, but it adds to the appeal, doesn’t it?” Ben taps his fingernails onto his bottle, the _clinks_ singing along with the hums and the swishes of the trees. “First thing you see. You can’t sense inner beauty at first sight, can you?”

“Well, you surely proved it.”

“What?”

“The pretty on the outside, rotting in the inside thing. ‘Don’t judge the book by its cover’ bullshit.”

“Oh, so _you_ think I’m pretty?”

“And shallow, too. Fishing doesn’t look good on you, Solo. Didn’t you hear about the ‘rotting’ part?”

He really doesn’t seem to have heard it. She never knew he’s selective about these kinds of things, or that he may have been simply trying to infuriate her. “Pretty. I wasn’t ever described that before.”

“Shut up. You’re not that pretty.”

“Well, you are. You look pretty tonight, Rey.”

“Shut up.” She elbows his side, racks her brain for any change of topic because she’ll go mad if it doesn’t. She cannot take the knowledge that Ben finds her _pretty_ – because he never told her once before, prom night excluded because it isn’t real. “You didn’t take Phasma?”

“Oh – we’re not spending the holidays together.” He shrugs, shakes his bottle like he needs to occupy his hand, “She went to Austria with her family, and you know how much I just _look forward_ to these things.”

He says the last part like it’s such a burden to be here, and she knows he feels it’s true. He is never really comfortable under such a number of audience, despite the fact that he’s good at not letting it show. It’s something she tries to copy off of him but never did succeed. “So Leia put her foot down and hid your passport?”

“Yes and no – _Han_ hid my passport. Said, and this is in verbatim: _Ben, your only purpose in life is to go ass-kissing with your mother so I won’t have to._ ”

“Nasty. Such a dick.”

“You’re telling me.”

She blows a lumpy strand of hair away from her eyes, “But you miss them when they’re not there.”

He doesn’t gratify that with a response because it’s true. She wrinkles her nose, wipes it with the back of her fingers. “I listened to Hozier’s album. I did like it, thank you. I never thought I would.”

Ben throws a little smirk in her direction, “So you _liked_ Hozier. Interesting – I’m glad you’ve finally grown out of your punk rock phase.”

Rey scoffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest defensively. “It’s been that way for a very long time now, Ben. I’d have you know, I can listen to the full Billboard Hot 100 without making faces.”

“Really?” He chuckles, “I can’t believe you’ve listened to a Bruno Mars song unironically. _You?_ You used to make fun of me for listening to Neon Trees.”

“Because you’re so fucking pretentious about it. Do you even liked Neon Trees or did you just like it because you heard Animal on Glee?”

“Woah – that’s low, Kenobi.” He frowns, offended. “We do not talk about Glee _._ ”

She snorts, “Didn’t you use to ditch practice when there’s a new episode?”

“Fuck you, Rey.” He drains his bottle and settles it on the railing, smiling. “I do like your… _maturity_. And you seem really –”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know – happy, I guess?” He rubs his lips, let his thought hang in the air like it occupies the space between their bodies. She lets it, her mind blanking for once. She supposes what he said is true – she’s quite happy, _generally_.

When the quiet gets unbearable, he stammers. “Rey – have you changed your number?”

She bites the insides of her cheek, trying to look for words that aren’t there. She reckons it’s just best to get it over with honestly. “No, I didn’t.”

“Oh.” The single syllable states those unsaid three words enough that it doesn’t need uttering out loud – _you never replied._

She looks to her left, to somewhere she can’t see him in her peripherals. She can’t bear the same expression she had all those years ago, reflected on his pretty face, when she found out he’d unfriended her on Facebook. The stinging rejection, the built-up resentment — she doesn’t think it’ll be as hard as this, because in the back of her mind, there’s a nagging voice that vouches for her and shouts ‘you get what you give.’

But she can’t do it. She hates herself because she still feels that she doesn’t have the right to hurt him, despite the fact that he did hurt her – despite the fact that she’s only ever done what he did back then. Why is it so easy for him to cut her off like that, and then expect that she wouldn’t be able to do the same? Why does it hurt her that it hurts him?

He clears his throat and tries to open a new subject, but a couple of knocks on the opened glass door make them turn. Rey feels herself pulling up a tired smile, only half-relieved, “Joph.”

“Hey, baby.” Joph walks over to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist. She releases a breath, glad to get her safe blanket back. “You okay? Do you want me to get you anything?”

She shakes her head, “Let me introduce you to Ben.” She nods at the guy standing before her, “Ben, this is my boyfriend, Joseph. _Joph_ – Ben Solo. We went to school together.”

Ben holds out his hand, and Joph shakes it. “Nice to meet you, man! Where do you go?”

“I go to school in New York.” Ben says, sparing her a glance before he fully turns his attention to her boyfriend. She notices his transition from comfortable to impersonal, to someone who makes it a habit to break people down. “In Columbia. I major in Physical Sciences. How about you – you go to uni with Rey?”

Joph nods, flashes him a bright smile. He isn’t the best at sensing the tension in the room, and for now, she doesn’t hate him for it. “Yeah, we met in class, actually. I asked her if I could borrow her notes because it’s just _so_ _organized_.”

She scrunches her nose at him, “Shut up. It is _not_.”

“ _Anyway_! I treated her to a coffee after, and it was so embarrassing because I never knew she worked part-time at a coffee shop! It sucks.” He tickles her side, grinning fondly at her. “Then took her to see a horror movie that I didn’t even watch because I was too scared. It’s awful and I never know what made her agree to a second date. But it worked out in the end, right?”

“Stop being so cheesy.” She blushes, having the urge to hide in the toilet and never get out until this night’s over. She doesn’t try to meet Ben’s eyes, even though they burn a hole on her face. “Don’t make me look uncool in front of him. I have a reputation.”

“Yeah? What reputation is that?”

“A – _something_!”

They both chuckle, but Ben does so like a well-rehearsed line. She finally looks up at him reluctantly, the smile on her face not untrue. He gives her his own little one and pats Joph’s arm sociably. “Hey, I think my mother’s looking for me, but it’s so nice to finally meet the guy that Rey liked enough to introduce to her old man.”

“ _I’m_ the lucky one. It’s great to meet you, too. I thought Rey’s a loner who only has two friends.”

She sighs, “I have more than two friends.”

“She has three.” Ben confirms hastily, like he can’t wait to get away. Her boyfriend doesn’t seem to notice, but she does. “Anyway, I’ll see you guys around; please do enjoy the rest of the night.”

He turns to go. Before he gets lost in the crowd, Rey calls out. “Ben? Let’s keep in touch?”

He nods once, does a small, odd wave, and continues to play the charming politician’s son.

“That’s Han Solo’s boy, huh?” Joph finds her hand and gives it a squeeze. She deviates her attention away from the retreating back and turns to him, uncertain about what he can possibly read on her face. “Look at you, all friends with people in high places!”

———

Five minutes into the new year, Rey sits in her darkened bathroom so that she can _not_ double think this decision. Maybe if she stays here and makes it here, it won’t have consequences, it won’t make her so unbelievably anxious – she knows herself, knows that doing this won’t do anything but dig up old wounds.

But isn’t she happy now? She’s got a loving boyfriend, about three semesters left (two, if she can squeeze in more units next semester), and great running stamina. She has to prove this to herself – that she’s past this, past _him_. It doesn’t matter if she wants to keep in contact with him.

Right?

Besides, it’s 2016. She looks back and she doesn’t ever think about getting here, but she _is_. The world didn’t end those years ago, so she can’t do anything but move forward.

She pushes the power button of her phone, the screen light blinding her for a second before her eyes adjust. She clicks her messaging app, scrolls down to the unsaved number from summer.

Rey renames the contact ‘Ben’, and she texts him: _hey. happy new year._

She goes out of the bathroom, to help Joph clean up after their midnight dinner. They are standing in front of the sink, arms deep in suds, when he kisses the side of her head. “Happy new year, babe.”

“Happy new year.” She says back, and she can’t help but think that if the world did end all those years ago, she’s in the same position standing beside a completely different person.

She doesn’t think about what that should mean – she doesn’t think about the implications.

—————

**_Spring, 2016_ **

_Los_ _Angeles_

_jurys out: Ive just finished the last season of friends_

_suffice it 2 say I think himym is significantly better_

_I cannot believe you think HIMYM is better than Friends. You’re so uneducated._

_woah woah woah_

_dont u rain ur snobby columbia ass on my humble parade_

_saying it as it is, himym has an actual plot_

_friends doesnt_

_It drags on for 9 season, Rey._

_Ted could’ve just said he’s met the mother at a wedding_

_so uncreative_

_wheres the fun in that_

_plus i fucking hate Ross he is my least liked friend_ 🤮

_he ruined unagi for me_

_Everyone hates Ross_

_And have you ever tried unagi? Not that great_

_Granted, there’s little of the bigger picture._

_More of a side plot kind of thing._

_I still fucking hate the ending of HIMYM_

_It cancels whatever up it has over Friends_

_so petty_

_the ending actually makes sense_

_its been robin and ted the very first episode!!_

_ur making me so mad rn_

_You’re like a plain, watered down oatmeal._

_what_

_Tasteless_

_how dare u Ben_

_dont fucking show ur face to me i’ll fight u_

Rey shuts off her phone and doesn’t hear from Ben until about a month later, where they dunk on Justin Bieber’s latest album. She tells him it’s all she hears, and that Joph plays it on repeat _like all the time_. She asks him if that’s legal grounds for a break up.

_if i fucking hear sorry play in the shop one more time im destroying the speakers_

He tells her that it’s fine, at least she doesn’t see him everywhere. Not in Times Square, where there’s a god-awful LED screen displaying his fucking face and his stupid, fucking hairstyle. He almost boycotts Spotify _._

_I can’t believe people actually thinks it’s good though?_

_And “my mama don’t like you and she likes everyone”?_

_Does he think that’s a good clap-back?_

_It just goes to show he’s a mama’s boy_

_who cares about what his mama thinks_

_not me_

_why are we so affected tho its not like its worse than his previous ones_

_Because it’s playing all the damn time_

_And_

_I_

_Am_

_Sick_

_Of it_

_lol ok ttyl sick of it_

_You are the worst_

_is it 2 late now 2 say sorry_

_Ha ha._

It almost feels like what it was before, the easy banter and the knowledge that, when they do agree on certain things, he will most likely back her up until the day he dies. Rey likes having him in her corner; she didn’t think twice about keeping back in touch when he replied to her the day after he left for New York. She does want to be friends again, to introduce him as someone more than who she ‘used to go to school with’.

Ben was her friend first. He was her classmate only a year after she met him.

She likes talking to him, likes to hear about his thoughts on Adele’s new album ( _21 > 25_), or Interstellar ( _I liked it; very meta but it comes out full circle_ ), the latest Captain America movie ( _Trailer-wise, I’d have to say: Team Iron Man. Leia, though? Definitely Team Cap_ ) or an Adidas ( _Rey, not an_ Adidas _I swear to god_ ). Sometimes, texting him is the best part of her day.

He never calls though. She wouldn’t want him to.

If she doesn’t hear his voice, then he only exists between radio waves and cellphone towers and her phone. The skip of her heartbeat every ping of message that arrives doesn’t count.

———

It’s funny how life goes on.

Rey buys herself an Adidas Stan Smith, because it’s cute and it’s very comfortable and she doesn’t care about what Ben thinks (and it’s fucking half off, beggars can’t be choosers). Mid-spring starts to feel like early-Summer, which means that there’s never the correct time to go to the beach because it’s either too hot or too dark whenever she’s free. Finn visits them for a week when his internship brings him to the state, and Rose finally finds out about him coming out.

_“Look, I want let you know in person.”_

_“We saw each other last Christmas! And you told Rey! You could’ve told me at the same time.”_

_“But I’m not ready then, okay? Rose – let’s be real, if you’d known first, you’d have set me up with your cousins!”_

She doesn’t speak to Rey for about a week after Finn left, but concedes on a Saturday because she wants to tell her about a guy she met at the gym. Nevertheless, Rey makes up for it by reminding her friend that she told her about Joph first. “And don’t you fucking forget it.”

Speaking of firsts, Rey spends her first anniversary with Joph on the last Wednesday in May.

He takes her to Disneyland, which is nice because she’s never been. They buy two matching mouse ears and ask some guy to take a photo of them in front of the castle while she piggybacks him. Before they go on Space Mountain, she makes it her profile picture on Facebook while standing in line.

He pukes in the trash after they disembark, and they have to do Haunted Mansion (he latches onto her the _whole_ time) and the Winnie the Pooh ride before he can stomach a go on Splash Mountain. It’s probably not smart for them to do Splash Mountain so early on, but the wait time is incredibly less than it is on Big Thunder.

Later that night, they kiss under the fireworks.

For once in her life, Rey really contemplates about saying “I love you” for the sake of the moment.

She doesn’t though.

———

As she looks for sleep, she types a message she doesn’t send —

_i_ _almost told_ _joph_ _i love him tonight._ _a_ _nd it should be ok because its been a year and he said those words to me months and months ago but i dont know._ _i_ _dont know ben._ _i_ _think he’s waiting for it and i cant give it to him._ _i_ _ts been a year_

_d_ _o_ _u ever think that if it had been us id be saying i love u within the first month?_ _t_ _he first week?_ _would_ _it be a year or w_ _ould_ _i even have the chance to say it?_ _w_ _ould u have said it back?_

_i_ _dont want him to break up with me b_ _ut if i look hard enough i can see it ending_ _._ _w_ _ho even gets to a year and not say i love u to their boyfriends?_ _i_ _t just doesnt happen._ _maybe i should stop texting u so i dont overthink this_

_tell me what to do because im not sure anymore. i have always taken cues from u._

———

She sees the post on the last day of the academic year, as she waits for Rose to finish closing at the gym.

Rey scrolls down on Facebook, watches a couple of Buzzfeed videos – a never-have-i-ever with a hot guy she doesn’t recognize, and a Try Guy challenge – and then laughs at a cat compilation video. She likes a few of Obi’s posts (he keeps sharing HONY stories, she may have to get him the book for Christmas), frowns at Luke’s photo with a spotted skunk, and then sees Poe Dameron’s status update with an image attached.

The caption reads: _finals arent the only one thats over #mamadontlikeu #lineupladies @Ben Solo #theheartbreaker #onelessproblemwithoutu #RidinSolo_

The picture: Poe, standing on a stool with an arm around Ben’s shoulder, bent to accommodate the square frame and a colorful drink in hand. Ben, trying to cover his face with the hand holding his bottle, eyes on his feet and a stupid green fedora on his head. Even from behind the screen, he looks like he’s just not happy to be there, the flash reflecting poorly on the filter of the image (she think it might be Nashville from Instagram). It gives Dameron a pair of glowy-white eyes.

Rey stares at it for a minute, and then swipes through her messages. She looks for Ben’s thread. The last text is from a week ago, when he asked her if it’s smart to use no-cal sugar in his coffee _(search for: will my trainer kill me if I add this in my coffee)_. She replies a thumbs up emoji and the pinched finger one.

_better than the all boring black you kept trying to drink_

They never really talk about their relationships apart from complaining about their significant other’s music tastes. Well, _she_ mostly complains about her boyfriend’s way of thinking that “ _whatever’s on the chart must be good, it’s statistics, Rey”,_ whereas Ben never complains at all. Rey doesn’t know his relationship isn’t working out – to be fair, with their history, it’s best she doesn’t interfere.

But she can see if he’s fine, right? It’s not like it matters whether he’s single or if he’s with somebody; it doesn’t change the fact that _she_ is with Joph. She’s being a friend, and she’ll do this for Finn or for Rose – hell, she’ll do it for Chance.

She’ll do it for Ben. It shouldn’t be a big deal. _It’s not_.

Rey looks for Rose, sees she’s still putting back weights in their designated areas, and types.

_hey_

_u ok?_

_???_

_What do you mean_

_See what I did there_

_haha_ 🤧

_ok ben solo #theheartbreaker_

_Did Poe fucking post it_

_I swear to god he is dead meat tomorrow_

_I told him NOT to post it_

_dude u barely see ur face its hardly blackmail material_

_besides he looks like hes having fun_

_At least someone is_

_Imagine your friend announcing your break up on facebook_

_It’s so fucking stupid_

_u r so uptight_

_live a little_

_i think its great ur friends w dameron_

_he makes u look cool_

🙄

_Fuck I’ve just seen it_

_I can’t believe he hashtagged mamadontlikeu_

_Onelessproblemwithoutu!!!_

_I’m never going out of my room ever again_

She snorts, and Rose side-eyes her suspiciously. Rey waves her phone, “Cat video.”

“Then at least turn the volume up so I don’t get startled, _god_. It’s so scary here.”

“Alright, I’ll stop. Geez, Rose, Paranormal Activity isn’t real.”

Her friend scoffs, crosses her arms in front of her. “You never know, Rey!”

She rolls her eyes and looks back at her screen.

_#RidinSolo!!_

_stop being so dramatic!! isnt the breakup amicable_

_and leia seems fine w phasma isnt she??_

_Yeah they get on fine_

_Poe just loved to MAKE A BIG DEAL OF THINGS_

_Help me think of how to get him back_

_idk just get him mildly inconvenienced_

_remove all his hoodie strings or smth_

_lol hes so short just put his charger on the top shelf_

_Hahaha I might do that_

_Rey, thanks for checking on me._

_I really appreciate it._

_hey no prob_

_i just thought of another one_

_butter his doorknob_

_Buying butter at the nearest store as we speak._

_No butter at this 711. Is baby oil ok?_

_—————_

**_Summer, 2016_ **

_Los Angeles_

Rey sees the poster on August 16, 2016. It’s a Tuesday.

She’s eating ice cream as she waits for Rose after class. They’ve been meaning to see the new Star Trek movie but never had the time, so a slow Tuesday seems to be a great idea. It doesn’t really even cross her mind to explore the mall, it’s just that Cold Stone is unfortunately full and that she doesn’t mind walking because she doesn’t really frequent this side of town (it’s not very near the campus proper and she _hates_ riding the metro).

So there she is: licking her mint chocolate chip peacefully, minding her own business, enjoying the mall’s air conditioning, waiting for her friend. She feels someone looking at her, and she turns around – then _BAM!,_ the Gap store has this massive poster of Ben Solo in fucking _denim_ and pulling at his neckline and being all broody with his clear brown eyes and stupid pouty, pink lips, and Rey, _well_ –

Rey’s jaw drops, her hand holding the waffle cone squeezes the biscuit, which leads to the cream leaking out of the cracks. She studies the details – the sharp corners, the texture of his clothing, even the clips they use to hang the poster – just so she can _not_ focus on his face. Once it registers to her that it’s _him_ and that he’s in front of her (technically _physically_ but also _not_ ), she feels a bit sheepish. Looking at him makes the blood rush up her cheeks and she doesn’t know why; it’s a face she’s seen a million times before, a face she’s stared at for hundreds of minutes without getting flustered – goddamn it, she’s got his number on her phone.

They’ve been texting back and forth for the good part of summer and he never cared to mention that he’s, _what_ , a fucking model for fucking _Gap_ out of all the fucking brands? He doesn’t even wear Gap! Does he really have to knock her off balanced? It probably gives him the satisfaction to know that she’ll eventually see this and she’ll faint or something. Oh god, is she going to faint? What the fuck?

Her phone beeps, and it’s Rose telling her that she’s going to be a bit late because of traffic, but she can’t even get her mind straight enough to reply; she just keeps standing in front of the display, ice cream melting from her disfigured cone, and she doesn’t know what to do. Why she feels a bit dejected, even though this must be good for him. Ben Solo is someone who won’t accept the publicity if he knows it doesn’t give him a step forward, this she gets from his mother, but he’s not exactly the type to _pose_ for a clothing brand. What’s next – a GQ centerfold?

The thought makes her take out her phone (sticky fingers noticed but ignored), and snaps a photo of the ad.

_ok so remember when i told u im gonna fight u when i see u in la?_

_guess what buddy_

_< IMG2987_20160816.jpeg>_

_Y DO U HAVE A FUCKING POSTER IN MY LOCAL GAP STORE_

_R U A MODEL NOW_

_DID U SUDDENLY BECOME A MODEL BETWEEN CHRISTMAS AND NOW_

_WHAT THE FUCK BEN_

The replies come instantly, meaning her all-caps texts must have worked. To be fair, this is an urgent query that needs an urgent answer.

_Hello to you too, Rey._

_First of all – it’s one shoot. Please don’t tear up the poster._

_I’ll mail you one that you can use as a dartboard_

_I encourage it, but please do so in private_

_Second of all, yes to the two follow up questions. I guess?_

_Does that qualify as modeling?_

_Third of all, I don’t fucking know what I’m doing._

_what, in the picture or like life in general_

_if u want me to say u look like a professional_

_boy u r not gonna hear it from me_

_is it the break up ben??? did u fucking snap after the break up_

_like u wanna one up phasma?? well ya did it_

_is this like when harry styles broke up w taylor swift and then she wrote 1989???_

_oh man ben thats not it thats so embarrassing_

_Okay can you chill for a sec?_

_Do I look like someone who took a modeling gig out of spite?_

_YES_

_Fair point, but no._

_This isn’t like a clap back situation thing._

_I told you – the break up was amicable so we’re still friends?_

_Sort of?_

_WHAT_

_nobody stays as sort of friends w their exes_

_jesus h christ_

_Rey_

_How would you know?_

_Besides I thought it would be fun?_

_But then I saw the prints and I almost threw up_

_Please don’t make this difficult for me_

_I can’t cope._

_Oh, and before you ask: I did shave the beard._

Rey closes her phone, looks at the melted goo in her hand, and then at the poster. She can only bear to stare at his face for seven seconds before she blushes, so she steps back and sits on a stone bench directly in front of the poster, as if she’s in a gallery and he’s the Rembrandt. She studies the mannequins instead. 

_God_ , he’s really outdone himself this time – it’s not just basketball courts and stages and piano recitals that he gets the spotlight on, he has to do _this_. He has to pose like he does it his whole life, and it has to get printed and hanged around the country. Everyone has to be aware of his existence, even if they are unwilling to get involved in his pull. Nothing is ever going to be enough.

If Ben Solo is so far out of reach before, this just takes the cake.

———

On her 22nd birthday, she doesn’t answer his call.

It’s the first time he tries, and she figures it’s also the last.

—————

**_Fall, 2016_ **

_Los Angeles_

On _his_ 22nd birthday, she breaks up with her boyfriend. It’s totally unrelated to him, just an unhappy coincidence. It’s _not_ – it shouldn’t be symbolic.

Joph gets an offer to do an internship in Chicago. He says ‘yes’, and asks her to do long distance. Although Rey knows herself enough that she doesn’t have the energy for infidelity, she… _refuses_. It’s just so complicated and she hates to be the one holding him back. What if he’s the one who finds a better person to get serious with? She can’t let him be anchored to a place that has no future for him.

They never really discussed what’ll happen after graduation because it’s miles away, but she figures this isn’t something that’s going to last forever. She won’t move in with him if he asks, and he’s _going_ to ask – she knows this – he’s going to ask on graduation because she’s seen the five-year plan on the post its stuck to the walls of his dorm room, and his parents are gonna be there and she’s going to agree but she’ll break his heart because she’ll pack her bag and take the first train out of town. She’s not going to move in with him.

And maybe the long distance thing is an excuse – maybe it reaches far deeper than not constantly seeing each other, or not being able to hug and hold and kiss anytime. Maybe it’s not about being in a relationship behind led screens and stupid front cameras, or the fact that holidays are the only time where it’s guiltless to see each other. She’s not the kind of person who asks for much.

Rey’s a smart girl – she knows how to do three moment equations without second-guessing herself, and can find the most economic section of a steel beam under three minutes without pressure, so she’s not entirely helpless academically. She can also fix cars and makes it a goal to shower at least once a day, can feed herself and is a master at making her fifteen dollars last until the end of the week, which means she can make her way through life okay. Sure, she struggles with emotions at times, and the fact that on her last stress-induced breakdown, she thinks about running in the middle of the highway, she can still say that she’s _smart_. Can keep up.

After the realization that she can’t ever return his _I love you’s_ , she smart enough to realize that this isn’t going anywhere – but it doesn’t mean that she wants this to end. It’s fucking _complicated_ , and her heart breaks for the look on his face. She doesn’t even bother hiding that she’s crying.

She can’t help but think that she’s crying because of guilt, that she took the first chance she gets to step out of this relationship. Maybe she’s crying because she could have tried harder, but chose not to. Maybe she’s crying because she’s loved him after all, but her love isn’t the kind he wants. And maybe he’s crying because he understands that he can’t wait for something that’s not coming.

There’s this sad part that it wasn’t them after all, and it’s normal because he’s grown within her in his own way; but it does feel like a test, like he knows _she know_ s they’re always going to be loose ends. He’s not someone who settles for the unassuming, he likes the thrill and the excitement of the unknown, he likes loud declarations and matching Facebook profile pictures – and she’s someone who’s very rarely glad to take part, not willing to sacrifice her individuality to be recognized as someone’s girlfriend, doesn’t appreciate the hearts on posts and Instagram tags.

But they were happy, weren’t they? They had a good run, and they made it work when they can. She doesn’t regret ever agreeing to lend him her notes, and he tells her that she’s the best four dollars he spent on.

They break up, and she thinks he resents her a little bit – not in a bitter way to hate an _ex_ ; she reckons they’ll not survive a _sort-of-friendship_ at all. That’s what happens when you try so hard to be something you’re not.

———

People can love the quiet. People live for the subtle glances and slight whispers. They settle for security and expected kisses, and she reckons they only get to that point if they’re with the person who makes them feel like they’re _it_ – infinitely and definite all the same.

Rey doesn’t know if she can ever be that someone to somebody. But the world can narrow into one single place, can connect you to a moment or a being, and that must count for something, right?

———

That Saturday, she plays a lot of John Mayer on the campus radio. Actually, it’s just John Mayer she plays until her hour’s up.

He’s singing about The Beatles lying and sleeping on porches when she changes her profile picture on Facebook. Her finger presses on the delete button of her previous one just as he says “this is the way that I used to be.”

———

“Rey. Just come with me to New York. For the holidays. I’ll buy your return ticket to LA myself. You can stay in my place.”

She glances at the clock, counts the seconds until closing. She barely smiles these days, but seeing Finn’s face, even from the small screen of her phone, gets a corner of her lips up. “It’s not that easy. I’m saving for the next semester and I barely have enough for next month’s rent.”

“Okay, fine – I’ll buy your roundtrip ticket –”

“I can’t ask that from you –”

“Then just pay me back after you graduate – come on, Rey, it’ll be fun!” Her friend says, much too loud from her fuzzy earphones, and she glances at the last patrons – two undergrads who don’t seem to be done any time soon. It’s already a minute after closing time; she wants to go back home and sleep. “I mean, not as fun without Rose there, but we’ll still make it work! Plus, you said Obi’s not exactly the type to spend Christmas. You told me he never even puts up a tree, so I’ll take you to Rockefeller Center! Come on, Rey.”

She sighs, rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know you’re a good friend, but did you speak with Rose about this? Does she still think I was moping all over the town? Because I’m not.”

Finn goes quiet for a moment, then: “Okay, she _did_ say that. So what if you broke up with Joseph? You’re, like, an inch taller than him anyway, it doesn’t look good on pictures. And it’s okay to be sad and moping – your first real relationship has ended, but Rey, you have to get going and not dwell on it too much.”

“Aren’t you going home for Christmas, by the way? I don’t want to be going to New York and not know anybody.” _Liar, Rey. You’re a liar. You know someone and you have his number. And you know he’s going to be back home for the holidays._ “You’re very unclear about your intentions and I’m nervous.”

The last two customers must have noticed her glare and have started to pack up, and boy, does it take them a while. She removes her earphones from the jack, lets the device lean on the register.

“No, I’m going to stay in the city for the holidays, then go back home in spring break. I met someone.” He pauses, looks up from over his phone like someone got in the same room, and his eyes softens. “Well, if we’re talking about technicalities, I’ve gotten to know someone and now I’m dating him, so I want you to know him too.”

She frowns, knowing he can’t see. “You should have started with that!”

“I know, I know. But it seems insensitive, no? Besides, Rose was worried about you. Said you’re so uptight about school stuff and it’s not healthy –”

Rey scoffs, and admittedly the break up did hit her harsher than she’s expected it to, but she’s not really worth obsessing over by her friends, right? Just because she realizes a lot of things about herself, such as her inability to fall in love her boyfriend of over a year, or her inability to be in love _at all_ , doesn’t mean that she’s someone about to hurl herself over a cliff.

_Okay_. She rarely have the energy to reply to messages – be it on Messenger, or an Instagram DM, or a normal text message – and whenever Santiago asks her if she wants to go see a movie, she feigns she needs the extra shift and volunteers to close. Rose has also seen her less and less at the gym, which makes her a bit tired on long days and her supply of endorphins gets awfully low. She’s not the most fun friend at the moment, and she knows this and doesn’t really plan on improving right now. On top of academic pressure and making ends meet, it’s just so much work.

“I didn’t expect to be attacked when I answered the phone.”

Finn takes a deep breath, and she knows he’s trying to extend his patience. _Good_ , he should be. It’s not like she asked to be coddled. “Then can you go to New York for _me_? I really like this guy, and I’m still not sure if my family is ready for me to get into a relationship with a dude. I’d really love for you to be here.”

_Well._ If he puts it that way. “You’re such a dick sometimes, y’know?” She licks her lips, not even bothering to count the money inside the register until after the call ends. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, Skype with me so I can meet the guy? Do I really have to fly to New York? I’ve just finished the second season of Kimmy Schmidt and I’m fucking scared.”

“No, you have to meet him. I swear it’ll be worth it – plus, Kimmy Schmidt is fictional, Rey. Totally exaggerated. Actually, no. But really, that’s the worst of it.”

“Then fine.” She mutters, kicks the baseboard lightly. “I’ll go to stupid fucking New York. But you have to get me back before the semester starts, okay?”

“Of course. So do you have your passport number? I’m booking your flight now. Seat sale.”

_———_

_Hey, it’s been a while._

_Are you coming to the party this year?_

_I’m skipping it. Leia’s let me._

_Funny how when I was off the hook, I kind of wanted to come._

_I’m apologizing in advanced for Han. If you’re coming, he’ll rant about the party to you_

_So. Enjoy I guess?_

_I’ll see you around Rey._

_—————_

**_Summer, 2019_ **

_New York City_

Rey doesn’t particularly appreciate that the nearest subway station to her apartment has Ben Solo’s Gucci ad on its walls – across the whole length of it. She really has to see his face every morning as she waits for her train, and then has to endure his stare as she gets home from work.

She also doesn’t appreciate that anybody else doesn’t seem to mind. She asks Rose about it over dinner, and her friend just shrugs like she cannot care less. “He looks great in it. The hair really works.”

Finn says, as he eyes her suspiciously over his twenty-dollar banana pudding: “Well, what do you expect? He’s famous.”

And Obi actually has the audacity to send her a screenshot of the ad on his Facebook news feed: _Leia named Ben after me because I looked like this when I was young_

_(Like,_ okay _, grandpa. Whatever you say.)_

So she’s at a dead end, because no one will sign her _‘get this damn poster off my subway station’_ petition – it’s just her and it’s stupid to ask anyone else. If Rose thinks it’s fine, then it must be _fine_. Nobody cares if it’s bothering her, and the company must have paid good money to hang the prints. The labour cost alone should have been staggering, not to say that they’re also printed on very high quality canvases ( _fine,_ she’s let the tips of her fingers linger on it _once_ or _twice_ , sue her).

On a Friday, she gets off the subway train at 8:03 pm. The poster in front of her door is him looking to the side, back semi-turned from the camera, as if asking her to follow him into the photo. She shakes her head at it, tempted to give him the finger, but thinks about the stares she’ll get if she does. She can’t fucking believe he gets to be a Gucci model – it’s too much. He’s the worst.

Rey walks to the exit and goes to the nearest 711. She’s got Beebee again this weekend, and she knows – _she knows_ – the cat hates her enough as a person. She has to buy its affection just so she won’t be shredded into ribbons.

And goddamn it, Poe and Finn are such an ass – they don’t even give her treat money! It’s not as if they also pay her for pet sitting, they just immediately assume that it’ll be okay because she’s consumed with work, not in a relationship and doesn’t date, hence she doesn’t have any plans for the weekend.

The thing she hates the most is that it’s actually fucking true. And, okay, _fine_ – maybe Rey actually looks forward to taking care of the cat because it’s so fucking adorable and she never stood a chance.

She picks up a couple of Fancy Feast and a bag of treats, sees another magazine cover with Ben Solo on it near the cashier – this one, shirtless – and gets a 6-pack of hard lemonade from the cooler.

After thinking about it for a moment, she picks up the magazine. _To hell with it. I never got the dart board you promised me._

Rey sighs and pays for the goods. The boy behind the register looks at her like _she_ _should know better_ when he scans the magazine, and Rey has to bow her head down so as not to meet his eyes as she gets the bag. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. What’s the return policy of 711? How embarrassing would it look if I return a magazine?_

She cannot (and will not) show her face in this 711 anymore, that’s for sure. But that’s a problem for future Rey – it’s not like there are no other shops around to buy tampons from; it’s the weekend, and she will not let these bad energies ( _a.k.a._ bad decisions) get to her until Monday morning. It’s just her and the cat and no Gucci ad on the subway _._ Maybe she’ll even pin the glossy cover on the dart board she did get from Poe last Christmas. Who knows!

As she’s climbing up the stairs to her apartment, she bumps into Rose, who’s already dressed up and ready for her own weekend. “Oh, just in time, Rey!” Her friend pats her shoulder, hurriedly strapping her sandals on as she walks to the elevator. “I left Beeb with the TV on; already fed him so you don’t have to!”

She grins, leans on the door jamb as she watches her smooth over her dress. “Is Hux going to propose to you over the weekend?”

Rose glares at her, “Don’t talk about that, it makes me cringe so hard inside.”

She raises her hands as a gesture of peace, then fumbles for her keys. “Okay, _okay_. See you on Monday, Rosie. Enjoy meeting Hux’s dad and I do hope you express your hatred about greedy wall street rats and fucking workplace misogyny. Their family seems like the type to take offense on it.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. Last time I met his half-sister, I asked – as a joke – if their company’s finally managed to get into S&P’s top 10. I didn’t even know why I thought it was funny! I’m just thankful that Armie’s is a nerd and couldn’t be bothered.”

“You mean you’re grateful he’s so whipped.” She says, waves goodbye to her friend as the elevator arrives.

And opens the door to find Beebee, on the couch, with Emperor’s New Groove playing on the television. The cat looks up at her, blinks slowly like it wants to say _oh, you again?_ , and turns back at the screen. She rolls her eyes and rubs the top of its furry little head. “I can’t believe I stopped by a 711 for you.”

Loud meow. As if it understands her and takes offense.

“Okay. Sorry.” Rey puts away the groceries and squints at the magazine. She thinks about tearing the front cover and then stapling it on the dartboard behind her bedroom door, _or_ hiding it under her bed – like a creep – and never reading it. She wonders about what _he’ll_ think, if he finds out that she bought a copy, that she didn’t just get the electronic one like a fucking idiot because that’s way easier to dispose. She imagines he’ll say paper copies are “so old fashioned”, and that the only thing they’re good for are scrapbooking and letter cut-outs for ransom notes (both of which aren’t beneficial to her, so why had she bought it? It’s _definitely_ _not_ masturbation material!)

She’ll tell him it’s none of his business, and goddamn it, can _he_ _not._ She knows she’ll never be able to show her face in front of him, she’ll die of humiliation – _here lies Rey, the only girl who’ll buy a magazine with the guy she lost her virginity to on the front cover; may she rest in peace._ Anyone who’ll read her epitaph will get secondhand embarrassment, and that’s even worse!

So the smartest thing? Just get rid of it. Throw it in the garbage chute, no one’s going to lead the purchase back to her (she didn’t even use her debit card; she paid in cash and didn’t keep the receipt). Pretend she’s chill, that she doesn’t care if he covers the every stop of every subway platform in the whole world with his dumb face, doesn’t give a damn about stupid friend requests and awful playlists, doesn’t spare a second look if every magazine prints his fucking name in big, bold letters. She cannot be indifferent, but she can act like it doesn’t affect her.

The matter of it being convincing – well, that’s an entirely different topic, isn’t it?

“Isn’t it, Beeb?” Rey mutters at her _friend_ , who’s mindlessly licking its paw and continuously ignoring her. “Do you ever wish you weren’t a cat? Because let me tell you, buddy: it sucks. It really fucking –”

Her phone rings with that annoying Facetime tune. She frowns, then pulls the device from her left front pocket. Finn’s name pops out. She swipes to answer. “Hey, man.”

It’s Poe who’s in front of the camera with Finn behind him, cooking in what looks like a fancy kitchen. One she sees in movies. “Rey! You just got home? Dude, it’s almost nine. You gotta stop working.”

“It’s the shirt, isn’t it?” She rubs her neckline, presses the starchy collar down. “I have a lot to wrap up before the weekend, so there’s that. Anyway, enough about me. How’s the Hamptons?”

Finn turns from the stove, nudges his boyfriend to the side and grabs the phone from its stand. “Rey! I can’t fucking believe you missed out on this – Poe, babe. If you ask for anything in your uncle’s will, ask for this.”

Poe, trying to insert himself back in the middle of the frame (and failing), tells her. “I mean, if you take a fucking day off for maybe once in your damn life, then you’d be here with us. I don’t even care if we’d have to hire a cat sitter, or maybe –”

“ _Maybe_ you should lend me the key next time, and I’ll sneak in after I turnover this stupid project.” She grins and puts the phone on Rose’s phone holder near the sink (her roommate likes to watch New Girl while they do the dishes). “So in three, four months tops.”

“It’s going to be freezing then.” Finn frowns as Poe successfully manages to share the screen with him. “I mean, it’s up to you, but, like, the weather’s fucking great these days and I’m one-hundred percent sure you’re not going to be enjoying as much.”

She shrugs, grabs one bottle of hard lemonade, and bites the cap open. Poe squirms visibly, “That cannot be good for your molars.”

“Rey, ugh. Cool, but _nuh_ - _uh_.”

“You two need to toughen up.” She grabs the phone and walks over to the couch, then sits on the floor, with Beebee behind her. “Here’s your spoiled-rotten kid.” She moves her head to the side so that the cat takes up most of the screen.

It looks on, while Poe and Finn coo and sigh, “Who’s the best cat?”

“Is Auntie Rey feeding you right?”

“Did Rey feed you Whiskas again?”

In which she, for a second, glares at the camera: “Hey, I bought Fancy Feast!”

“Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“She ranted about work again, _huh_?”

“I know, baby, it’s just for the weekend. I miss you and I’ll let you sleep in the bed once we’re back home.”

“Aww, look at you! Such a cute boy. Takes after me.”

Rey takes a deep breath, annoyed, and waits until the two of them get their bit out of their system. It takes five whole minutes before they even acknowledge her presence again. And the cat? Well, it doesn’t spare them an ounce of its attention, seemingly more entertained with Kuzco the Llama and Pacha the Villager. _To be fair – hashtag relate._

“Are you two done?” She goes back into the frame, props her phone to the side because her arm is getting tired of holding it up. She nods and takes a sip from her drink, looking past them, to the particular pattern of smoke on the stove. “I think your food is burnt.”

Finn’s eyes widen, and he drops the phone face down as they both scramble to minimize the error. Greyed out screen and irritated shouts of “the smoke cannot stain this white wall, Poe, relax” and “I can’t believe we burnt a stupid frozen burger patty”, then “well, what the hell am I supposed to do? My skills in the kitchen is as great as your handwriting – fucking awful!” come from their end.

She rolls her eyes and finishes off her drink, diverts her attention to the TV. Kronk pulls the right horn, and Yzma falls into the hole. “Wrong lever!” echoes on the speakers. She snorts and side-eyes Beebee. _You see how ridiculous this is?_

It lays a paw on her shoulder. _This is your final warning, human girl._

_Rude_. She shakes her head and watches as Yzma and Kronk slide through the roller coaster onto the secret laboratory, then high fives with their leather gloves on. The scene then expands into the villain’s obviously flawed plans, and Rey’s just glad to be pouring her attention elsewhere.

“Hey, you guys okay?” She says, not bothering to take her eyes off the movie. “Maybe you should just order out. McDonald’s or whatever. PF Chang’s? D’you think they deliver there?”

Ignored. They probably haven’t even heard what she’s said, must’ve been a crisis. She will, too, if her dinner’s ruined because she’s too preoccupied with her cat. Like, sure, your cat is cute, but _prioritize_. It’s not going to feed you, honey.

“Rey.”

Her name is said like a balloon deflating, a quiet sigh, as if it’s been building up for so long that it’s just glad to be let out. A relief, that somehow, it’s still something that exists in the fabric of the universe.

That isn’t Finn’s voice, nor Poe’s; they’re still arguing and obviously not paying attention to her (“You’ll get _cancer_ eating burnt food!” “Okay, _Doctor_ Finn. Thank God for your medical degree from the University of Not True!”). Slowly, she turns back to her phone, propped on a hardbound book.

There, occupying the rectangle of her screen, is none other than her nightly burdens, the source of her afflictions, the object of her frustrations, with his long hair and his stupid moles, his lovely, brown eyes. His pouty lips, and her name spoken from it – she wants to scrape it from his tongue and remove it from his vocabulary. She wants him to forget the sound of those three letters together.

She wants to hear it from him over and over again.

Her mind’s running so fast, it’s almost blank, because this is Ben in front of her after god knows how long. This is Ben seeing her, at the same time she’s seeing him. And she can’t speak, but she knows she has something to say – the perfunctory “how are you” and the accusatory “Gucci, really?”, and a lot more if she really thinks about it. She’s not drunk enough for this.

So she makes no sudden moves – she doesn’t even blink – and they stare at each other without anything uttered between, as if it’s a competition of who speaks first, but then: didn’t he already say her name? Does this mean she wins, because it doesn’t feel like winning. It feels a lot like dropping from the twenty-third floor of a building and not even dying of the fall.

It cannot be more than a full minute – because Rey _for sure_ cannot hold her breath that long – when she numbly reaches out and pushes the red button, ending the call.

She lets the quiet and the lull of the TV mix in before she turns to the cat, eyes wide. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. _What_ _the_ _actual_ _fuck_.”

_Oh boy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with the formatting while I figure out the work skins thing!! 
> 
> Also, might go back to this chapter later for the edits. I don’t have the energy to do so right now. I’m so fucking sorry if I took a bit of time to update, real life got in the way 🥲
> 
> References - LOADS of them:
> 
> 🌝 [Cheat sheets](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheat_sheet) \- cheat sheets in my school are notes on cards that you revise before tests.
> 
> 👤 [Joph Seastriker](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Joph_Seastriker) \- not really a Joseph but it seemed like an odd name (i imagined it pronounced as “Geoff”) and ok, it’s Josh Hutcherson as the face cast and what about it
> 
> 💿 [Hotline Bling](https://open.spotify.com/track/0wwPcA6wtMf6HUMpIRdeP7?si=epdLYaowRlWhV2zlXdOdMg) by Drake
> 
> 🎥 [I thought you were american](https://youtu.be/HUUwomMczeE) vine - should be “i’m lesbian” but i’ve taken liberties on this 
> 
> 🎧 [Ed Sheeran playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3PkTdhqY3DNwVbpVGspePM?si=UrhPSTrlR_-YkVWMFh7Tvg)
> 
> 💿 Animal by [Neon Trees](https://open.spotify.com/track/0l4DTppOxy7NUaEcwXuOb6?si=Q9U9ho-TTkacCZEccVr3FQ) / [Glee](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3PkTdhqY3DNwVbpVGspePM?si=UrhPSTrlR_-YkVWMFh7Tvg)
> 
> 🎥 [How I Met Your Mother (HIMYM)](https://www.netflix.com/ae-en/title/70143824) & [Friends](https://www.netflix.com/ae-en/title/70153404) \- one of my friend group’s most heated debates; evenly split into HIMYM and Friends. Personally I agree with Rey, and Friends doesn’t really have a plot.
> 
> 💽 Adele’s [21](https://open.spotify.com/album/5duyQokC4FMcWPYTV9Gpf9?si=aYV55UypTFuNVTY_mNwZew) & [25](https://open.spotify.com/album/6TVfiWmo8KtflUAmkK9gGF?si=UNOQXY-TRsK_F018sJx5kg) \- equally great; imho, < 19
> 
> 💽 [Purpose](https://open.spotify.com/album/6Fr2rQkZ383FcMqFyT7yPr?si=Q0_S6Cd4TGWps3jb38YT5w) by Justin Bieber - I liked it the first 4 times i’ve heard it (not continuous). The 5th time was a bit excessive and unnecessary. 
> 
> 📷 [Gap photo](https://pin.it/619Eiu2) \- do you think i’d write a ±50k-word fanfic just to incorporate Adam Driver being a Gap model? Well yeah that’s actually the point. I’m sorry if you went here for the smut/plot you’ll not find any I literally wrote it because of the Gap photoshoot.
> 
> 💽 [1989](https://open.spotify.com/album/1yGbNOtRIgdIiGHOEBaZWf?si=E5J2b8oLQVGFE8zKKH0MeQ) by Taylor Swift that I’m sure is NOT written just because they broke up!! 
> 
> 🎧 [John Mayer playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1TQI6HIlM337U2XP1UZ9F1?si=LW0_NQLvQVa0VZfxJrefGA)
> 
> 💿 [John Mayer song](https://open.spotify.com/track/2eMVogxm08LgfgnWpahooV?si=djxhsUgGQ8Wv3Zk_Yx8c4A) when Rey made changes on her FB profile pic (‘All You Need Is Love is a lie’ / sleeping on porches / this is the way that i used to be)
> 
> 🎥 [Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt](https://www.netflix.com/ae-en/title/80025384), which is the best ever
> 
> I swear - I wrote the Gucci thing BEFORE AD was in talks with the movie. 🥲 I also can’t believe Taylor Swift managed to release evermore before I finished this chapter i s2g

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fall Out Boy’s [Of All The Gin Joints In All The World](https://youtu.be/SRLLHIE8RZU).


End file.
